No Motive
by hbwgonnabe
Summary: Finished! When Joe gets abducted outside of the newspaper morgue after completing a homework assignment and an opportunity to abduct Frank results in him left by the roadside, family and friends must rally round to find out why Joe was kidnapped.
1. Chapter One

Seventeen-year-old Joe Hardy rubbed a hand across his weary blue eyes as yet another slide popped into view on the projector. this one told of an explosion at the Bayport docks where the Cragman Fireworks warehouse had caught fire from a carelessly tossed cigarette. The fire had spread to two neighboring warehouses, owned by the Dawson Chemical Company, before being brought under control by the Bayport Fire Department.

Joe jotted down the facts from the article in the margin of his notebook and sighed in relief because he now had enough sources for his research paper due on Monday.

Shaking his blond head ruefully, he thought about his brother and friends who were out enjoying the sunshine while he had been forced to spend the day questioning people, working at the library and at the morgue of the Bayport Times.

"No one to blame but myself," he mumbled, thinking about the two weeks notice he had been given but had kept ignoring.

Gathering his notebook and note cards, he stuffed them into his backpack and returned the slides to the desk. Stepping out into the dimming light and walking toward his van, his thoughts were on the dinner he knew would be waiting for him at home and not on his surroundings.

As he neared the van, two figures in black lunged at him. He moved to swing his backpack at his attackers, but a third figure grabbed it in mid-swing and, whirling Joe around, landed a fist on his jaw. He felt himself falling, then felt hard cement on his back as the breath was knocked out of him. Before he could recover, he felt a jab in his right arm. Trying to reach over and ease the pain with his left arm, it fell back heavily onto the ground. The last thing Joe saw were three figures in ski masks, one holding a hypodermic needle, standing over him.

"Dinner ready yet?" asked eighteen-year-old Frank Hardy, poking his six-foot-one frame through the doorway.

"Almost," answered Laura Hardy, smiling fondly at her brown-headed son. "I was trying to give Joe time to get home."

"Have you ever known Joe to miss a meal?" kidded Frank, his blue eyes twinkling. "Relax," he added, "his stomach will have him home any time now."

"Here," said Fenton Hardy, an older version of Frank, handing him a stack of plates piled with silverware. "Set the table."

Frank grimaced and headed toward the dining room muttering something about his brother's procrastination. He had just placed the last fork when the phone rang. "I'll get it!" He shouted to his parents as he picked up the receiver.

"Hello," he answered.

"Frank?" Asked a desperate female voice.

"Yes?" He responded with a crease in his forehead as he tried to place the voice.

"You'd better get to the Bayport Times office right away. The police are already here," the voice blurted out in a single breath."

"Slow down Liz," calmed Frank, finally placing the voice as belonging to a friend of his who worked at the paper. "What's wrong? Why are the police there?"

"Joe was attacked by three thugs outside," she told him huskily. "As I started to leave I saw them carrying him to their car," she added in a strained whisper.

"We'll be right over," Frank promised and hung up.

"What's wrong?" asked Mr. Hardy, as he and Mrs. Hardy came into the room and saw Frank's drawn face. Frank told his parents what Liz had said and soon he and his father were on their way to the newspaper office.

They pulled into a space beside one of the two police cruisers on the scene and hopped out. "Ezra," Mr. Hardy greeted Bayport's tall and graying chief of police, as they walked over to where he stood.

"Fenton," acknowledged Chief Collig. Normally, Chief Collig disliked private investigators but Fenton Hardy was the exception, having been an officer on the New York City Police Department before resigning to become internationally known and respected in his field. "We were just about to question the witnesses."

"There's more than one?" asked Frank, his eyes narrowing on the Chief.

"A young man was waiting for a bus and claims he witnessed the entire kidnapping," Chief Collig informed them. "Liz said she had called you," he added, looking at Frank.

Frank nodded and looked over to where a red-headed man in his early twenties stood nervously twisting a bandanna.

"Steve Blevins," introduced the Chief, "these are Fenton and Frank Hardy. The boy's family," he added, referring to Joe.

"Howdy," Steve said, putting the handkerchief into his back pocket and shaking hands with them. "I'm mighty sorry we have to meet in such a bad way," he added with his hillbilly accent.

"Tell us what you saw," Chief Collig instructed, his brown eyes hard as he gave the man his full attention.

"Well, I was waiting for my bus, which is always late, when this guy comes tearing out of the newspaper office and nods his head at these two guys who were sitting in a car beside that van," he added, pointing to the Hardy's van.

"Then what happened?" inquired Mr. Hardy, wishing to hear a full account of the event before honing in on the details.

"The two guys in the car put on ski masks and then got out and hid behind the van. When the kid got close, they jumped him. The kid was quick. He started to fight back but before he could do anything this other guy comes up behind him, swings him around and decks him! Then one of the other guys puts a needle in him," he paused and shook his head sadly. "That's when i ran into the restaurant and called the police. When I came out, they were gone."

"Did you see their car pull into the lot?" asked Frank.

Steve shook his head. "It was there when I got to the bus stop."

"How long were you waiting for the bus before the attack happened?" Mr. Hardy asked.

"About twenty minutes. Like I said," he added, "it's usually late."

"It sounds like Joe's abduction was planned," Mr. Hardy said, looking at the chief.

"Huh?" asked Steve, confused. "I thought a kidnapping had to be planned."

"If Joe had found anything out at the morgue then the kidnapping would have been a spur of the moment thing," explained Frank. "But from what you've told us, it sounds too well-executed not to have been arranged in advance."

"Can you give us a description of the kidnappers?" asked Chief Collig.

"The first one, the one that came from the office, was a little over six feet tall and had brown hair and a dark tan. All three of them were dressed in black. I didn't get a good look at the two in the car before they put on their masks."

"What about the car?" Frank and Chief Collig asked at the same time.

"It was a red Mercury. The license plate was covered with dirt."

"No help there," snorted Frank in disgust.

"Would you mind telling us again everything you remember starting with your arrival at the bus stop?" asked Chief Collig, hoping to pick up a clue that may have been missed the first time.

Frank touched his dad's arm and nodded in Liz's direction. Mr. Hardy gave an acknowledging nod, then returned his attention to the first witness.

Frank walked over and sat down beside Liz. "What did you see?" he asked, looking at her bent head.

"Three guys dressed in black were carrying Joe to a red car. He had his eyes closed," she added softly. "He wasn't moving," she said as she started to cry.

"Liz," Frank said, gently taking her chin in his hand and lifting her face so he could see into her green eyes. "What's wrong? You've been involved in some of our cases before but you haven't been this upset."

"That's because I've never heard one of the bad guys ask another where they could dump the body!" she told him, crying harder. 


	2. Chapter Two

"What?" began Frank in shock, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath before looking at the troubled girl again. Clasping his hands together he asked, "Exactly what did you hear?"

"Well," she said, blinking at her tears and trying to concentrate, "the man holding Joe's feet asked the one walking beside them where they could dump the body." She paused and frowned. "No, that's not right. He asked, 'Where did you dump the body?'"

"Did?" questioned Frank. "Are you positive that's what he said?" At her nod he continued, "That sounds like they were talking about someone else. What else did you hear? Did he say where?"

Liz sniffed and shook her head. "That's all I heard. They had reached the car by then and I wasn't close enough to hear anymore."

"Did you see anything that might help us find out who took him?" asked Frank, desperate for any kind of clue.

"Not really," Liz answered. "But some of Joe's things spilled out of his backpack when that guy threw it into the car."

"What about their voices? Did any of them have an accent?" Frank tried to prompt her memory.

"I only remember that one guy's voice,' she said. "He sounded like a," she paused, searching for the right word, "like an android. No emotion," she explained.

"A professional?" Frank wondered out loud. Liz gave a small indecisive shrug.

"Thanks Liz," Frank said, smiling thinly at her. "If you think of anything else..."

"I'll let you know," she hurriedly assured him.

Frank walked over to where his father was stooping by their van. After telling him what Liz had said, Mr. Hardy nodded. "That would explain why some of Joe's notes are scattered around," he said, sighing and standing up.

"What now?" asked Frank.

"Go home," Mr. Hardy told him. When Frank objected, he held up a hand. "Tell your mother what has happened and wait to see if the kidnapers call. I'll check with the police department and see if they've turned up any bodies recently," he added, referring to the bit of information Liz had overheard.

"Then you don't think they've killed him?" asked Frank with a pleading expression.

"No, I don't," answered Mr. Hardy after a moment of thought. "There were two witnesses present so if they had killed him they would have left his body," he reasoned.

"That's something," Frank said hopefully.

"Collig has an all points bulletin out on the red Mercury and has issued roadblocks on all roads heading out of town. Where did Joe go today besides the newspaper office?" he asked, changing the subject.

"The library for sure," Frank told him. "He was doing a research paper for a class. I don't know where else he might have gone, but he had to have at least one interview."

"What was his paper on?" queried Mr. Hardy.

Frank shrugged his shoulders. "Last night he still hadn't decided on a topic and he had left the house before I got back from my morning jog. Do you think Joe stumbled onto something this morning?'

"It's a real possibility," was the reply.

"Sure, but even if he did, how would anyone know?" Frank argued.

"You said he had to have an interview." At Frank's nod, he continued, "He may have scared someone by asking the wrong question."

"For a school paper?" Frank demanded in disbelief.

"Even a school research paper can scare someone when it's being done by a detective," Mr. Hardy replied gravely.

"Then you don't think it's an old enemy? Asked Frank, thinking of the many cases he and Joe had solved in the past.

"Not really," he answered. "Although that, too, is a possibility." He shook his head with a sense of helplessness. "Collig ran a check to see who has been released from prison recently, but the only name he came up with was a man I sent up when you and your brother were still in diapers. His present address is in Utah."

"I'll go over Joe's notes and see if I can figure out what he was working on," said Frank, holding out a hand for the cards his dad held.

"Good luck, son," said Mr. Hardy as he gave Frank the cards. "When you finish with them Chief Collig wants them back for evidence."

Frank nodded. "Is it okay to take the van?" he asked.

"Yes, it's been dusted but only two sets of prints were found."

"Mine and Joe's," guessed Frank, climbing into the van. Mr. Hardy nodded. "I'll see you at home," Frank added before driving off.

"The kid's got the rest of the stuff," said a nasal voice to the driver of a brown sedan.

"Then we shall just have to take it from him," came a steely reply from the back seat.

"He's moving," said the driver starting the engine.

"Stay back until the time is right and then..." ended Steely Voice suggestively.

"My pleasure," stated the driver, grinning as he placed the sedan three cars behind the van.

Picking up the car phone Frank called his seventeen-year-old-girlfriend, Callie Shaw. "Don't you and Joe have current events together?" he asked as soon as she answered.

"Yeah," she admitted. "Chet and Biff are in our class too," she added, naming two more of their friends. "But why didn't you just ask Joe?" she ended in a puzzled tone.

"I'd like you to come over and help me figure out what Joe's topic was," he told her after explaining about the kidnapping.

"Anything to help," she told him. "Why don't I call the gang together?" she suggested. "We're bound to come up with something if we all work on it."

"Great idea! I'll...uh-oh," he broke off, noticing a car coming up fast.

"What's wrong?" Callie anxiously demanded.

"I've got company," he told her. "We'll meet at my house in twenty minutes," he added hurriedly. "Bye." He hung up and clung to the wheel as he floored the pedal. Speeding up, he hoped to out distance the sedan, but it gained on him.

Coming alongside the van, the driver of the sedan turned the steering wheel sharply tot he right, hitting the van and making it spin out of control.

Frank released the gas pedal and eased his foot down on the brakes, fighting with the wheel in an attempt to regain control. Two miles down the road, he finally brought the van to a stop.

The sedan pulled to a halt inches from the van and three masked figures jumped out. Before Frank could react, his door was wrenched open and he was dragged from his seat.

"Where's my brother?" Frank demanded.

His only answer was a punch in the stomach and a revolver shoved against his throat. While one man held him from behind and the second kept the revolver on him, the third man climbed into the van and took the note cards. Nodding at his companions, he headed for the sedan. The man holding Frank spun him around. Frank saw one brown eye and one blue one before the revolver came crashing down on his head. 


	3. Chapter Three

"Ooh," Joe moaned as he turned his head and opened his eyes. Trying to sit up, he discovered his hands and feet were tied and he was lying on what felt like concrete. Looking around he realized he was in some kind of warehouse and that he wasn't alone.

"Hello kid," said a steely voiced man with brown hair. "You've caused us a lot of trouble."

"Always happy to be of service," cracked Joe, then gasped in pain as he was kicked in the side.

"Did it hurt?" asked Steely Voice mockingly.

"Forget it," Joe said. "I have!" He added defiantly, at which point he got an even harder kick in the same place.

"I want it memorable," Steely Voice said and laughed. "Not that you'll have long to remember it."

"What's this about?" demanded Joe, when the pain had subsided. "Why did you kidnap me?"

"You're too nosy," snarled Steely Voice, his green eyes cold and hard. "But no more," he added softly after a small pause.

"Who are you?" Joe asked.

"That is something you will never know," responded his captor with a smirk.

"You're going to kill me so what's the harm in my knowing?" Joe reasoned.

"No harm," the man agreed. "I just prefer you go to your cremation with your curiosity intact."

"Cremation?" gasped Joe. Ignoring him, Steely Voice left the room and locked the door, leaving Joe in darkness.

Frank moved his head and winced as a stab of pain raced through his head. He reached to touch the back of his head as a voice said, "Easy son. You were hit pretty hard."

"Dad!" Frank exclaimed, his eyes flying open. "They took Joe's notes."

"I know," Mr. Hardy acknowledged grimly. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern evident in his blue eyes.

"Yeah, I guess so," Frank answered, wincing again as he touched the lump on the back of his head. "What are you doing here?" he asked, standing up with his father's help.

"Callie called the police and the message was relayed to Chief Collig. Your attackers were gone before we arrived."

"It was the same guys who grabbed Joe," Frank said. "I'm sure of it. But they were in a different car."

"That figures," Mr. Hardy said. "We got word a few minutes after you left that the red Mercury was found abandoned. No clues to be found there. Not only was the interior wiped clean of any prints, but it had also been reported stolen earlier this morning. Did you get a look at any of them?" He asked Frank, hopefully.

"They were wearing ski masks and never said anything, but I did notice one of them had mismatched eyes," Frank told him. "One was brown and one was blue."

"They seem to be professionals," stated Mr. Hardy. "One thing we now know for a certainty is that it wasn't an old enemy who took Joe."

"Because they were after Joe's notes, not me," Frank said, understanding what his father meant.

"Are you okay to drive home?" His father asked.

"I'm fine," Frank assured him. "Callie's calling the gang over and we're going to see if we can come up with anything," he added. "I think I'll call Liz and see if she can find out what Joe was looking for at the paper's morgue. Maybe we can work backwards from there."

"Good idea," approved Mr. Hardy. "I'll be home as soon as I finish at headquarters."

Arriving home, a tall, lean blond-headed girl ran from the Hardy's house to greet him. "Are you okay?" Callie asked with concern, gently pushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. Frank nodded and gave her a quick hug.

"Everyone's inside," Callie informed him. "I told your mom what you told me. Do you have any leads at all?" She asked.

"Actually, we have less now than when I called you," he replied. At her look of surprise, he continued, "The reason I was attacked was because I had Joe's notes. But some good did come from the attack. At least now we know we aren't dealing with an old enemy."

"What's good about that?" demanded an overweight Chet Morton as he opened the screen door for frank and Callie to enter. The Hardy boys' best friend, he preferred a slice of pie to an adventure but when there was trouble he was the first in line to help.

"Inside," Frank told Chet. "I'll fill everyone in at the same time, but I first need to call Liz."

Minutes later Frank, Chet, and Callie, joined by Tony Prito, Biff Hooper, Phil Cohen, and Chet's sister, Iola, were seated on the floor around the coffee table with Callie's and Biff's notes from class spread out.

"Sorry," said Chet, munching on an apple. "My notes weren't so great, so I left them at home."

"They may have helped anyway," pointed out small, wiry Tony.

"No they wouldn't," broke in dark-haired, blue-eyed Iola. "His notes consist of nothing more than doodles. He's got a crush on the teacher," she added mischievously with a glance at her blond-headed brother.

Chet shrugged. "So?" He demanded. "We'll just have to learn this stuff again next year in history."

"Oh, wise one," joked blond, beefy Biff, "your intellect can only be out-distanced by the weight you've lost this week." He was rewarded with a good-natured punch in the arm.

Frank, who had sat silently through the exchange asked, "What was your assignment?"

"We had to find a way to improve safety in the work place by choosing a few places and concentrating on a related problem," Callie told him.

"How does that fit into a current events class?" asked Iola.

"The papers are full of accidents happening because of lax safety measures," explained Phil, straightening his glasses.

"Right," agreed Frank. "The oil spill in Alaska last year could have been prevented if the proper precautions had been followed."

"Great!" moaned Iola. "With so many possibilities, where are we supposed to start looking?"

"I asked Liz to find out what Joe was looking at but tomorrow is Sunday and the morgue is closed," Frank informed them. "That's the same problem we have with the library. We can't find anything there until Monday, but we need something now!" He ended with force, bringing his fist crashing down on the table. He knew the first twenty-four hours were crucial in solving a mystery, and the lack of a solid lead only increased his sense of helplessness.

"Did Joe say anything this morning before he left?" asked Phil.

Frank shook his head. "He was gone when I got back from my jog and last night he still hadn't chosen a topic," he said, giving a sigh.

"Maybe he left something in his room that would tell us what he was going to do," suggested Chet.

"No," said Mrs. Hardy, coming in from the kitchen. She set down a tray with a pitcher of lemonade, glasses, and a plate of cookies. "I made him breakfast this morning and he still hadn't decided. He said he was going to drive around before the library opened and see if anything would come to mind."

"Hey!" exclaimed Chet, as an idea hit him. "Why don't we ask around and see if anyone saw Joe or the van this morning?"

"Good idea, Chet," congratulated Mr. Hardy, having just returned from the police station and walking in on the conversation. "I'll call and see if any of the Collig's men remember seeing Joe or the van today" he added, going up the stairs and into his office.

"Wait!" Ordered Frank as Tony reached for the phone. We need to keep this line open in case the kidnapers call."

"I'll run down to Mr. Pizza and spread the word around," Tony said, mentioning the restaurant where he worked. "Maybe someone saw which way he was headed this morning."

"Okay," Frank agreed. "Keep us posted.

"I know he wasn't near the power plant this morning," Frank continued after Tony had left. "That's the direction I took on my run and he never passed me."

"He wasn't around the hospital either," added Iola, who was a volunteer. "I had to go in last night when two of the other volunteers got sick," she explained. "I left around seven-thirty this morning and I would have seen him on my way home."

"Joe didn't leave until a little before eight" interrupted Mrs. Hardy. "Maybe he stayed in the general vicinity of the library," she suggested.

"So what's near the library?" Mumbled Chet, chewing on his fourth cookie.

"Several factories," said Callie.

"Some warehouses," added Phil.

"The fire department," threw in Biff.

"The mall," added Iola, sighing in defeat. "Let's face it, the library is near just about everything."

"It's all we've got," Frank said sharply. Looking up from his clenched fists, he saw the shocked expressions on their faces. "I'm sorry..." he began.

"It's okay," Callie interrupted him, placing a hand on his arm. "We're worried about Joe too."

Frank took a calming breath then put forth his plan of action. "Callie and Iola, would you two please ask the storekeepers at the mall if they saw the van this morning?" They nodded their agreement and he continued, "Biff, you and Phil can tackle the factories closest to the library. Chet and I will go down to the warehouses. And mom," he added, looking at her, you can be home base."

Hours later, Frank ran a hand through his hair in frustration. They had asked everyone they had seen about Joe and the van but had learned nothing. Calling home, his mother told him the others hadn't had any luck either.

Stifling a yawn, Chet looked at Frank. "Let's go home and catch a few winks and come back in the morning."

Although Frank didn't want to waste time on sleep, he knew he could work better after some rest. He dropped Chet off at the Morton farm and went home.

"Frank!" he heard his father call as he opened his bedroom door. "Would you please come here?" He went to the room his dad had converted into an office and sat down. "How did it go?"

"Nothing," said Frank with disgust. "We've got a few more places to cover though."

"Collig is going to talk with the men that were on duty earlier first thing in the morning," Mr. Hardy informed him. "We had better try to get some rest," he continued wearily. "We can start again in a few hours." Frank looked at the clock. It was almost morning.

Over a light breakfast, the Hardys made plans for the day. Frank was getting ready to leave for the warehouse district when Chief Collig phoned.

"Thank you Ezra," said Mr. Hardy before hanging up. "Joe was own by the warehouses that burned down recently," he told Frank. "The van was also spotted at the fire department."

"Finally!" Shouted Frank, "We have a place to start. I'll head over to the warehouses."

"No," Mr. Hardy stopped Frank as he was running to the door. "Go to the fire department. You'll probably be able to find someone Joe talked to yesterday."

"But Joe may have found something at the warehouses yesterday," argued Frank.

"True," agreed Mr. Hardy. "But if he did, where do you think he would go for information?" he asked, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"The fire department," Frank answered ruefully.

"Besides," continued Mr. Hardy, "I would rather you had someone with you when you go to the warehouses."

"So would I," Mrs. Hardy agreed with her husband. "If Joe did find something there to get him into trouble, then you probably will too," she told Frank.

"I won't go alone," he promised her. "While I'm at the fire department where will you be?" Frank asked his dad.

"I'll be at headquarters," Mr. Hardy said. "Some hairs were found in the stolen car that didn't match the owners. The forensic team is all ready on it."

"Be careful," said Mrs. Hardy. "Both of you."

"We will," Mr. Hardy assured her, giving her elbow a gentle squeeze.

Frank left and headed straight for the fire department. Pulling into the lot across the street, he started to get out of the van when a familiar looking brown sedan pulled out from behind the building. 


	4. Chapter Four

Closing the door and restarting the engine, he let the car pass him and make a left at the corner before pulling out and following. Picking up the car phone he called the police station and was put through to Chief Collig.

"Frank!" barked Collig. "Where are you?"

"I'm just leaving the fire department," Frank told him. "The car that side-swiped me yesterday just left there," he added, giving the chief the tag number of the car. "Find out who owns it."

"I will," promised the Chief. "Now give me your precise location so I can get a car out there. This is police business," he added, using his favorite phrase when talking to one of the Hardy boys.

"It may be police business, but Joe's my brother," Frank reminded him with determination. "This guy may run if he spots a cruiser," he added. "Is dad there?"

"He's down in Forensics. We have a make on one of Joe's kidnapers," Chief Collig said, surprising Frank.

"All ready?" Frank asked in surprise. "Who? Do you have an address? What are his priors?" Frank threw out the questions.

"Paul Conner," answered the chief. "He was the driver and the one you saw with weird eyes. His last known address was in New York City, which he vacated in a hurry when the vice squad showed up. Frank," he added softly, "he's wanted on four counts of murder."

"Then we had better find Joe before it becomes five," Frank said, ignoring the growing doubt they would find him alive.

"Good morning," greeted a new voice, as Joe was shaken awake. He had scraped his wrists raw trying to loosen his bonds before falling asleep the night before. His side ached and he knew things were only going to get worse.

"Come on," demanded Nasal Voice, shaking him again when Joe didn't open his eyes. "I brought your breakfast."

Joe opened his eyes and focused them on the man stooping over him. His eyes were blue and the expression in them was one of sheer annoyance. The man grabbed Joe by the arm and yanked him into a sitting position.

"Chow time, Blondie," he wheezed, bringing a plastic container of orange juice to Joe's lips.

"This would be a lot easier if you would untie me," suggested Joe after the juice had spilled onto his shirt.

"Mmm," grunted Nasal Voice in agreement. "Remember though," he warned Joe, reaching behind him and untying his wrists, "you try anything and you'll die now."

"What's to try?" asked Joe dryly. "My feet are still tied and I never disobey a man with a gun," he added, looking at the gun Nasal Voice had tucked into his jeans. He ate his breakfast slowly, trying to think of a way to escape.

"Why did you kidnap me?" he asked, stalling for time.

"Why do you think we grabbed you?" replied his captor. "You know too much."

"Let's pretend I don't know anything, because I don't, and you tell me what it is I'm supposed to have discovered," Joe said. "I was only doing a paper for class."

"Yeah, sure," returned Nasal Voice snidely. "And this is the White House."

"Fine, MR. PRESIDENT," Joe said with exasperation. "What did I learn?"

"Look kid," Nasal Voice said. "We know you're a detective. We also know you were at the chemical plant yesterday morning and went to the fire department asking questions. Kids don't go to all that trouble for a school paper," he ended, picking up the rope and tying Joe's hands.

"They do if they need an A," Joe said flatly. Receiving no response, he demanded, "Who are you? You're going to kill me anyway or you wouldn't have let me see your face," he added, seeing the hesitant look on the man's face.

People call me Jack" he wheezed, then checked to make sure the ropes were tight. "You should have stayed home yesterday," he added before leaving.

At least I can see where I am this morning, Joe thought as he struggled with the ropes. And this guy can't tie as well as the one who tied me up last night, he added silently, looking around the room.

Laying down, he rolled over to one of the wooden crates. Getting to his knees, he turned around and began rubbing the ropes against the corner. After a few minutes, his hands were free. After untying the ropes around his ankles, he rose unsteadily to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, so he clung to the crate for support until the pins and needles had finished their attack.

Looking around, he noticed only two ways out of the warehouse office where he was imprisoned. The door, he was sure, had at least one of his captors on the other side and after the events of the past twelve hours, he wasn't feeling up to a battle with one or more of them.

The second way out was a skylight, about thirty feet up and several feet outside the office door. With a sigh, Joe set a small crate onto the larger crate he had used to cut his ropes. Then he placed a chair on top of that. Climbing up, he realized he needed a few more inches before he could latch onto the metal pipe which ran across the ceiling of the warehouse. Getting back down, he found a small crate and put onto the chair.

Carefully, he climbed on the wobbly structure and jumped, his hands wrapping around the pipe. Taking a deep breath, he began the arduous journey of hand over hand until he could reach the skylight.

Right, left, right, left, don't look down, he kept thinking. He was about ten feet away from his goal when he heard a shout from below.

"The kid's gone!" bellowed Steely Voice, slamming the office door and striding back into the main part of the warehouse.

"He can't be," argued Jack. "I just left him not more than half an hour ago."

"Search the place," ordered another voice.

Joe looked down to see the newest player in this mad game, but saw only a balding head attached to a navy suit. He continued his trek until he reached the skylight. Using one hand to hang on with, he reached over to unlatch the skylight, but it was stuck. In his precarious position forcing it was out of the question, so hand over hand, he headed for the other side of the warehouse. Finally reaching the end, he took hold of a wooden beam, and wrapping his legs around it, scooted down to the floor.

After landing, he had just started to turn around when an arm clamped itself around his neck and a gun was pushed against his forehead.

"Kid, the only reason you're still living is in case your old man comes snooping around. Any more stunts like this and he won't be looking for you because we'll send you to him in a box," Steely Voice snarled, squeezing Joe's neck and making him gasp for air.

"Keep him sedated," advised the man in the navy suit behind Steely Voice.

"Sure thing Boss," agreed Jack, going into the office. Joe tried to twist around to see the boss, but the grip on his neck grew even tighter. His air about to give out, he tried to focus his eyes. He saw Jack return. A quick jab in his arm, and everything began going black.

"Hurry up," barked the boss. "Jared, tie him up and get back out here to help with the loading," he ordered Steely Voice. "I want this place in flames before nightfall!" 


	5. Chapter Five

Frank followed the sedan, keeping at least three cars between them, before the sedan pulled off the highway and came to a manned fence.

"Dawson Chemical Company," Frank read, coming to a stop just out of sight. "Little brother what were you doing?" He wondered out loud.

He waited until the sedan had gone through then pulled up to the guard's station. "Name?" asked the guard.

"Fred Daniels," answered Frank, using the first alias that popped into his head.

"You're not listed," said the guard, looking up. "You'll have to leave."

"Oh, I didn't want to come in," Frank assured him with a smile. "I saw a brown sedan pull in here a minute ago and the driver looked like my Uncle Terry, so I thought I'd say hello."

"Sorry kid. That was Paul Conway, not Terry whoever," the guard informed him.

"Oh," said Frank, feigning disappointment. "He still looked like somebody important," he said, fishing for information.

"He's the janitor," the guard told him, laughing.

"Oh," repeated Frank sheepishly. "I just thought it was a nice car."

"Not his," admitted the guard. "He only uses it when he has an errand to run for the company."

"It's a company car?" Frank asked, making sure he had heard right.

"Yes," the guard affirmed.

"Well, I guess I had better be leaving then," Frank said, noticing the guard had stopped smiling and was beginning to look at him suspiciously.

The guard nodded his dismissal and Frank backed out and drove back to the fire department.

Walking into the building he was greeted by a blond man in his late twenties, wearing faded jeans and a green plaid shirt. "Any news on Joe?" the man asked.

"What?" Frank asked in surprise. "How did you know about Joe?"

The man picked up the morning paper and held it up. Joe's picture was on the front page with the story of his abduction from the paper's parking lot. Frank realized he hadn't looked at the day's paper to see what had been said about yesterday's events.

Frank shook his head in reply to the question. "That's why I'm here," he explained. "I'd like to know what Joe was doing here yesterday."

"I didn't talk to him, but Kevin spent about an hour with him," the man said, and motioned to where a lanky young man was drinking a cup of coffee and reading the sports page.

Frank thanked him and then went over and sat down opposite Kevin. "Hi," he said, and introduced himself. "I understand you spoke with my brother yesterday."

"That's right," answered Kevin, putting down the paper and grinning at Frank. His brown eyes met Frank's with a friendly twinkle.

"Could you tell me what you talked about?" Frank asked, getting right to the point.

"You think it may have something to do with his kidnapping?" Kevin asked curiously.

"Right now we're trying to find anything that could tie in with it," Frank answered truthfully.

"I doubt what we discussed will help, but if you think so, ask away," Kevin told him, leaning back in his chair and locking his hands behind his head.

"For starters, why did Joe come here?" Frank asked him.

"He said he was doing a research paper on industrial fires."

"Have there been many around here?" Frank asked, leaning forward and giving Kevin his undivided attention.

"Not really. Locally, we've only had three in the past year. Of course, nationally, they are fairly frequent," Kevin told him.

"What exactly did Joe want to know?"

"He was asking about the fires at the docks," Kevin replied.

"How do they tie in with industrial fires?"

"The Dawson Chemical Company had four warehouses down there," Kevin informed him. "Two of them caught fire recently when another warehouse blew."

"So the chemical company wasn't at fault," Frank said glumly because the lead he thought was there had just fizzled.

Kevin shook his head. "Joe also wanted to know how the fire had spread to the two warehouses which weren't even near where the fire originated."

"And your answer was?" prompted Frank.

"The fireworks," replied Kevin. "When they blew, sparks flew in all directions and some of those ignited the other warehouses."

"How were the other two situated in context to the one that explode?" asked Frank.

"Your brother asked the same question," Kevin told him, smiling. "Look," he began, leaning forward and picking up the condiments set. "This salt shaker is one of Dawson's warehouses and the pepper shaker is the other." He set the salt shaker at the top of the table and the pepper shaker about twelve inches southwest of the salt.

"This is the fireworks warehouse," he said, picking up the toothpick holder and placing it six inches southeast from the salt shaker.

"There are three more warehouses close by," he added. "One here," he said, pointing to the space between the salt and pepper. "And two here." He indicated a point to the south of the toothpick holder.

"When the one blew it sent sparks to these two," he said, taking two toothpicks and placing one on each shaker.

"So three warehouses in the same area were missed," observed Frank. "What started the fire?"

"Someone tossed a lit cigarette through an open window at the fireworks warehouse," Kevin said in disgust. "If you're going to store fireworks, the least you can do is close the windows. They had no smoking signs everywhere, but does anyone pay attention?" He asked, not expecting an answer.

"Did you discuss anything else?" Frank asked.

"We talked about safety procedures during an industrial fire and how they differ from a business or residential fire. We also covered some ground about evacuation procedures during industrial disasters."

"Did he say anything about where he was going next?" Frank wanted to know.

"Just that he wished it were Friday instead of Saturday so he could check out some records at the courthouse," Kevin replied.

"Why?" Frank asked in puzzlement.

"I wondered about that too," Kevin admitted. "He said he wanted to know more about Dawson Chemical."

"Do you know anything about a brown, four-door sedan that has been around here recently?" Frank asked, wondering about Dawson Chemical himself.

"It belongs to the Dawson Chemical Company," he answered. "Why?"

"What was it doing here?" Frank asked, ignoring Kevin's question.

"Since the warehouse fires, Dawson has been trying to make sure all the safety requirements are met," Kevin explained. "They've been sending a man to keep up with the new manual specifications."

"Are new specifications put out often?"

"Regulations regarding industrial hazards change frequently," Kevin informed him. "Normally, regulations aren't always followed due to the lack of funding needed to ensure their enforcement. As a result, more and more accidents occur. Dawson wants us to perform a hazard test on a worst case scenario. They've been sending material over here for us to go over and we've been filling them in on our response. There will be a trial run with full gear this evening."

"Wouldn't a worse case scenario take place when the plant was in full operation instead of on a Sunday night?" Frank asked.

"If it were functioning at capacity, there are several things that could be done to contain a spill or fire, whereas if there are less personnel, then it would be difficult for all the proper procedures to be followed."

"So even the janitor gets into the act," Frank deduced.

"No more so than anyone else," Kevin replied. "Why?"

"The guy driving the sedan. He's the janitor at the chemical plant," Frank answered.

"No way!" Kevin shouted, hitting his knee and breaking out in laughter. "He's Dawson's cousin. Dawson hired him to be in charge of plant safety after the fire."

"Was he here when Joe was?" Frank asked him urgently.

"I think so," Kevin answered, wrinkling his forehead in thought. "Does it matter?"

Frank gave a slight shrug. "You never know what might be important in a mystery," he said, rising and shaking Kevin's hand. "Thanks for your help."

"If I can be of any more help, let me know," offered Kevin as Frank was leaving.

At home, Frank filled his parents in on what he had learned. "There's definitely a connection with the Dawson Chemical Plant," he concluded.

"I'll check out Dawson and see what I can find out at the plant," said Mr. Hardy.

"I'll go down to the docks and look over the burned warehouses," Frank decided. "That fire sounds awfully suspicious even if arson wasn't suspected."

"Agreed," his father said. "Don't go alone," he reminded Frank. "Ask Chet and Biff to go with you." Frank nodded his agreement.

"Be careful," Mrs. Hardy said, laying a hand on Frank's shoulder.

"I will," he said. "And don't worry," he added. "We'll find Joe," he promised.

"I know," she replied huskily.

Two hours later, Frank, Chet, and Biff were looking through the debris at one of the warehouses.

"Nothing," grunted Chet. "There's nothing here. Not a clue, not even a hint there is anything wrong."

"Are you sure Joe's kidnapping had to do with this fire?" Biff demanded of Frank.

"No," admitted Frank, sighing in defeat. "But I am sure it had to do with the Dawson Chemical Plant and we have to start somewhere."

"We've been over every inch of this place and haven't found anything," repeated Chet. "The town records would tell us more about it than anything we could find here," he continued to complain.

"True," agreed Frank. "But City Hall isn't open on Sunday. Besides," he added, "Joe said he wished he could check the records so he must have suspected something."

"What?" demanded Chet.

"If we knew that, then we could find Joe," Biff told him patiently.

"Let's look at the warehouse where the fire originated," suggested Frank.

An hour later the threesome were standing amid a pile of ruble that used to be the Cragman Fireworks warehouse. Frank was gazing at the remains of three beams which had been placed at an angle facing one of Dawson's warehouses. Biff and Chet watched as Frank walked over to another area of the warehouse and examined a similar pile aimed in a different direction.

"What are you doing?" asked Chet.

"These piles were aimed at the other warehouses," was Frank's response.

"It looks like rubbish to me," Biff said hesitantly.

"These three small beams look like a tripod or a launching pad," Frank insisted. "I don't understand how the fire inspector could have overlooked this," he said, his forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.

"Maybe he didn't," Chet said.

"Kevin said arson wasn't suspected," Frank argued. "Why wouldn't this be considered suspicious?"

"Maybe you just want to see something there," Chet said. "I don't see anything resembling what you're talking about." He looked at Frank. "You might be looking so hard for a lead that your mind is making one up."

Frank started to argue, then stopped and shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "Let's check out Dawson's remaining warehouses," he suggested.

"Wait!" ordered Chet. "There's one emergency that has to be taken care of first."

"What?" asked Frank and Biff with alarm.

"Dinner," replied Chet with a grin as he rubbed his stomach.

"All right," agreed Frank. "But let's make it quick," he added, anxious to find his brother.

"All set?" asked the nasal-voiced Jack.

"Everything's ready," said Paul, running a hand through his thick black hair. "I checked the set-up against the newest procedures I picked up at the fire department."

"Perfect," said the boss, straightening his tie. "The majority of the fire department will be at the plant. By the time they arrive here, this place will be ashes and the kid will be dead. Are the chemicals set?" He asked Jared.

"Yes Sir," replied Jared. "In exactly nine minutes and eleven seconds," he said, looking at his watch, "the vials will fall and the chemicals will mix causing a minor explosion which will set off the other chemical bombs in the warehouse. Hardy is a mere ten feet from where the third explosion will occur." 


	6. Chapter Six

Frank, Chet and Biff were greeted by Callie, Phil and Iola when they walked into Mr. Pizza. When Tony came over to take their order, Frank brought everyone up to date.

"So Joe did stumble onto a mystery while he was researching his paper," said Iola, after Tony had left to get their pizza. "Only you two could take something as simple as homework and end up nearly getting yourselves killed."

"Sis," hissed Chet!

"Oh!" she exclaimed, clamping a hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide as she realized what she had said. "I didn't mean Joe was dead. He can't be!" She started crying and couldn't say anything more.

"It's okay," Frank soothed his brother's girlfriend. "We know what you meant. Joe and I do have a knack for finding mysteries in the most unusual ways."

"What bout the body Liz heard mentioned?" Callie asked.

"Dad said the police hadn't found one yet," Frank answered.

"Pizza's ready," Tony said, coming over and setting down two large pizzas.

"We're heading back to the docks after we eat," Frank said. "We didn't find anything at the burned warehouses so we're going to check out the ones Dawson still has standing."

"We'll go," said Iola, looking at Callie, who nodded in agreement.

"I wish I could," said Tony. "But I'm on duty until closing."

"My folks made me promise to be home early," Phil excused himself. "We're having company tonight. Let me know if you find out anything," he made them promise.

The five teen-agers arrived at the docks as dusk rolled in. They had almost reached the first row of warehouses when an explosion pierced the night and one of the warehouses erupted into flames.

"Callie, Iola, go call the fire department," ordered Frank, breaking into a run with Chet and Biff at his heels.

They had just reached the warehouse when a second explosion was heard. Frank rushed for the door, only to be halted by Biff.

"Hold it!" ordered Biff, grabbing Frank's arm. "You go in there and you'll get killed."

"What if Joe's in there?" demanded Frank, shaking Biff's arm off.

"You don't know if he is."

"This is Dawson's warehouse," Frank stated grimly. "That's a good enough reason to look."

"Here," Chet said, shoving his jacket which he had just dunked into the bay into Frank's hands.

"Thanks," said Frank, taking the jacket. "It's locked," he grunted a second later, pushing at the door.

"Stand back!" urged Biff, when the door didn't budge. Biff took a run at the door with his large, athletic frame and fell on top of it as it caved in.

"Joe!" Frank gasped, peering through the smoke and flames. His brother was lying inches from the flames, bound and not moving. Rushing over, he placed the wet jacket over Joe's head and with Biff and Chet's help, they lifted him and carried him out of the burning building.

Lying Joe down a safe distance from the fire, they heard another explosion followed by another. Then the night was filled with the blare of sirens. Frank checked Joe's vital signs while the others worked on releasing him from the ropes.

"On his back!" ordered Frank. "He's not breathing." He began administering CPR as Callie and Iola came running up.

"It's not working," Iola whispered as Joe showed no sign of recovering.

The fire engines arrived followed by an ambulance. Frank kept up the first aid on Joe until the paramedics took over.

"Would you call our parents and have them meet us at the hospital?" Frank asked Chet.

"Sure," he agreed, then said he would see to it that everyone got home because he knew only Joe's family would be allowed to see him tonight.

"Thanks," Frank said gratefully, and grinned when he heard Joe start coughing.

"He's inhaled a lot of smoke," one of the paramedics told Frank. "He's breathing on his own but he still hasn't regained consciousness. You can ride in the ambulance with him if you like?" Frank nodded and climbed into the back of the ambulance with Joe.

"How is Joe?" Mr. Hardy asked their family doctor as he, Mrs. Hardy and Frank stood up in the hospital's waiting room at the doctor's arrival.

"He's awake," Dr. Bates informed them. "Apparently, he was given something to make him sleep and it's just now worn off. He's hungry, so I'm having a light meal sent to his room," he added.

"Can we see him?" asked Mrs. Hardy.

"Yes," replied Dr. Bates. "But he's had a rough couple of days and needs some rest, so please don't stay too long."

"We won't," Mr. Hardy assured him and ushered his family toward Joe's room.

"Honey," Mrs. Hardy said as she reached Joe and kissed him on the forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"A little sore and confused," Joe responded, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

"He has a nasty bruise on his left side," explained Dr. Bates.

"Jared kicked me," Joe explained.

"Who's he?" Frank asked.

"The meanest one of my kidnapers," Joe told him. "About six-foot-two, brown hair, tan, green eyes, and a voice that reminds you of sharp metal," he described him.

"What did the others look like?" asked Chief Collig, coming into the room. "I'm glad you're all right," he added.

"Thanks," Joe said, giving a small smile. "Jack had a black crew cut, blue eyes, and a nasal voice. The only other guy I saw was the man they called the boss. I didn't get a good look at him, but he was balding and had on a navy suit."

"What about the guy with the mis-matched eyes?" asked Frank.

"What guy?" Joe asked, puzzled.

"Paul Conner. He was one of your kidnapers," Frank explained.

"I didn't see him," Joe said, shaking his head.

"Why did they kidnap you?" asked Mr. Hardy.

"That's why I'm confused," Joe responded dryly. "Whenever I asked, I was only told I was too nosey."

"So you weren't unconscious the entire time," observed Chief Collig.

"No," admitted Joe. "They drugged me when they grabbed me. Then when I nearly got away the boss ordered them to keep me drugged from then on."

"I have a theory about the kidnapping," Frank said. "You probably stumbled onto some arsonists."

"The Dawson warehouses," Joe said, nodding. "I figured there was more to those than there appeared to be, but I don't know how anyone found out. The only person I asked about them was Kevin and I didn't think I had said enough to raise any suspicions."

"You mentioned it," Frank told him. "And I'm sure that was enough, considering Conner was lurking around the fire department yesterday."

"Okay," said the nurse coming into the room. She set a tray laden with soup, crackers and Jell-o in front of Joe. "You will have to leave now and let the patient get some rest."

"Is that wise?" questioned Mrs. Hardy, worried. "They tried to kill him earlier. What if they try again?"

"Why did they kidnap you if they were just going to kill you anyway?" Frank asked in puzzlement.

"They thought I knew something which is why they grabbed me and my notes. They said the only reason I was still living was in case dad came snooping around."

Mr. Hardy looked over at Chief Collig. "Maybe you had better put a guard on him tonight," he suggested.

"Yes," agreed Chief Collig. Looking at Joe, he added, "When the doctor releases you, I want you to come down to headquarters and look through the mug shots."

"Perhaps tomorrow," said Dr. Bates. "Right now, I think everyone should leave so Joe can rest."

"I'll stay until the guard gets here," volunteered Frank.

"No," countermanded Mrs. Hardy. "You have school tomorrow."

"You take your mother home," Mr. Hardy told Frank. "I'll be along later."

"Have you found out anything about Dawson Chemical?" Joe asked his father after the others had left.

"The guard Frank spoke with yesterday had been with the company nine years. He said the fires were the first disasters that have occurred there in over six years. Other staff members agreed it had been a long time since anything major has happened involving the chemical company."

"Who's in charge of the place?"

"Charles Dawson," Mr. Hardy replied. "He took over the company from his brother last year when he died in an auto accident." Looking up, he smiled. "Here's the guard Chief Collig promised," he said, standing up.

"Hello Mr. Hardy. I'm Lieutenant Stevens," the officer introduced himself. "I'll be staying until Joe is released tomorrow morning."

"Lieutenant," Mr. Hardy acknowledged, shaking his hand. "If anything suspicious occurs, please notify me at once." Turning to Joe, he added, "See you in the morning, son. Sleep well."

"Night Dad," Joe returned with a grin, and watched his father leave. "Hi Lieutenant," Joe greeted the officer. "Want to sit in here?" he offered.

"Sorry, Joe," the officer refused. "Chief Collig said to station myself outside the room and allow no one unauthorized inside."

"Oh well," Joe said with a sigh because he really had felt like having some company. "Thanks for being my guardian angel."

"Cute," the officer said, laughing. "I'm about as angelic looking as a rhinoceros is cuddly," he added, referring to his rugged appearance and day old growth of beard.

Joe took a closer look at the officer as he left the room. The man had regulation uniform, shoes, and badge but something seemed odd about him. Remembering what the man had said, Joe began to frown. The man had obviously been busy all day. His blood shot hazel eyes were evidence of that as was his beard. Why would Chief Collig assign him to guard Joe all night?

He reached for the telephone, then hesitated. Maybe he was suffering from an over-active imagination. After what he had been through it was to be expected. No, he decided, he had better not call Chief Collig, but he still had this bad feeling. After battling his fears for almost an hour, he picked up the receiver and dialed a number.

"Hello," answered a sleepy voice after the fourth ring.

"Frank?" Joe asked in a whisper.

"Joe?" Frank asked in surprise. "What's wrong?" he asked, sitting up in bed.

"Nothing, maybe," Joe answered. "Is Dad home yet?"

"I'm not sure," was the reply. "What's wrong?" Frank asked again.

"Dad left almost an hour ago," Joe replied, instead of answering. "He should be there by now."

"Joe, you didn't call to check up on Dad," Frank warily stated.

"No," Joe admitted, and then hesitated. "I don't think this guard is the real McCoy," he blurted. He went on to give his reasons for his conclusion.

"Maybe he had a lot of stuff to do at home," suggested Frank soothingly.

"I thought of that," Joe said.

"I hear a but coming," Frank said.

"But there's something about him," Joe replied. "He looks familiar."

"We've seen all the officers at the department at some time or other," Frank reminded him. He wasn't used to his brother getting spooked and it was all he could do to keep himself calm much less Joe.

"No, that's not it," Joe denied quickly. "I had already considered it. I know... Frank, I saw him in one of the pictures at the morgue. He was one of the employees at the Cragman Fireworks warehouse."

"Are you sure?" Frank demanded.

"Positive," Joe affirmed.

"Call Chief Collig," ordered Frank, jumping out of bed. "I'm on my way over," he added, grabbing his jeans from a nearby chair. Hanging up, he raced down the stairs and to the garage.

Joe looked up as an orderly came into the room followed by the fake guard. "How are you feeling?" asked the orderly, moving over to Joe's left side.

"Great," Joe replied warily.

"Who were you talking to?" the orderly asked. "You really should be resting."

Joe had just hung up with Chief Collig but he wasn't about to tell them. "I called my teacher to tell her my report would be late," Joe fibbed, saying the first thing that popped into his head. "What's that for?" he asked, his blue eyes narrowing in a mixture of f ear and apprehension when the orderly withdrew a needle from his pocket.

"You need to rest," said the guard, closing in on Joe's right.

Joe tossed his pillow in the guard's face and jumped from the bed. The orderly lunged at him, but Joe shoved a chair in his way, causing the orderly to fall over its back. By this time the guard had recovered from the surprise attack and managed to grasp Joe's right arm, pulling him back. Joe's scream for help was abruptly halted when the guard clamped his free hand over Joe's mouth.

"You don't want to do that," Joe was warned. "It would be a pity if someone else had to die as well." Joe struggled to free himself, but it was useless. He was dragged onto the bed. The orderly stood up and walked over to where he had dropped the needle.

"Pity," he said, picking it up and coming over to Joe's side. "It's no longer sterile. But then," he added with a malicious grin, "it doesn't really matter." 


	7. Chapter Seven

Frank came screeching to a stop in the underground garage at the hospital. Hopping out and running toward the elevator, he was halted by an insistent knocking from the stairwell.

"Dad!" he exclaimed on opening the door and seeing his father and another man, dressed only in his underwear, tied up. He removed the gag from his father's mouth.

"See about Joe," Mr. Hardy ordered urgently. Frank shoved his pocketknife into his father's hands, knowing he could cut himself free, and raced up the stairs until he reached the floor Joe was on.

"Hey! Slow down," he heard someone shout as he rushed down the hallway to his brother's room. Throwing the door open he saw Joe being held down by the fake guard while an orderly leaned over him, holding a hypodermic needle which almost touched Joe's arm.

Frank lunged at the orderly, knocking him off balance and causing the needle, once again, to fall to the floor. Turning toward the guard, he froze. The guard had removed his gun and was leveling it at Joe's head.

"Back off kid," growled the guard, pulling Joe to his feet. "Just stay there or Blondie here gets it."

Getting to his feet, the orderly shoved Frank aside and moved out the door followed by the guard who still held Joe like a shield.

"Freeze!" Frank heard a command from the hall as he stepped to the doorway. His father and the real Lieutenant Stevens stood near the stairway. Chief Collig and another officer were blocking the elevator and four more officers were stationed throughout the hall. There were no patients or staff in sight.

"Stay back," ordered the fake guard, his eyes roving the hallway for a means of escape. "Move away from the elevator now or I waste him," he ordered Chief Collig and the officer.

Chief Collig moved a few feet to the left and motioned for the officer with him to do likewise. "Not good enough!" shouted the fake orderly. "Everybody move over by the nurse's station." Chief Collig gave a nod and all did as they had been ordered.

Knowing if they did get out of the building, he was going to be killed anyway, Joe decided to make it as hard on them as possible. About five feet from the nurse's station, he let his body go limp. The sudden drag on his captor's arm brought his attention to Joe and not on the officers who seized him and took the gun before a shot could be fired.

Joe sighed and sank back on the bed. It had been almost an hour since the fake guard and orderly had been arrested. The real Lieutenant Stevens was now stationed outside Joe's door and Chief Collig had just left after questioning Joe about what had taken place before his arrival.

"I always knew homework could be hazardous to your health," grumbled Joe, easing some of the tension in the room.

Laughing, Mr. Hardy tousled Joe's hair. "Relax, son," he advised, getting serious. "Whatever you've stumbled on is more serious than a mere case of arson. You two are going to be busy the next few days figuring out exactly what is going on."

"What do you mean dad?" asked Frank.

"We know there are at least six people involved," he began. "The two caught tonight, the three who kidnapped Joe from the paper's parking lot, and the head man. We also know that whatever it was Joe found out was worth getting caught in an effort to silence him."

"But I haven't found out anything," Joe pointed out. "And even if I did, everything was in my backpack which went up in flames earlier."

"You must know something you don't think you do," Frank reasoned. "Otherwise this entire case makes no sense."

"It doesn't make any sense under any circumstances as far as I'm concerned," Joe complained.

"We'll have to go back and retrace your steps if we're going to find out what's going on," Frank stated.

"But all the stuff I had was public record," Joe insisted. "Anyone who wants to see it can. What could be so special about it?" he demanded.

"Good point," acknowledged Mr. Hardy. "Did you talk with anyone besides Kevin?"

"Just a couple of people," Joe said. "There was a guy hanging around outside of Dawson's that I spoke with. As a matter of fact, he gave me the idea for my paper."

"What did he say to make you want to research industrial fires?" queried Frank.

"Not industrial fires," Joe denied with a shake of his head. "Chemical spills."

"But Kevin said..." Frank began only to be interrupted by Joe.

"I told Kevin I was interested in industrial fires because I didn't want him to know what I was really after."

"Why not?" Frank demanded.

"Just a feeling I had," Joe replied with a small shrug. "I figured if what the man in front of Dawson's turned out to be true, it would be better if no one knew I was asking questions."

"What do the Dawson fires have to do with a chemical spill?" Frank asked, confused.

"The man mentioned a chemical spill at Dawson's," Joe stated.

"I've never heard of a chemical spill in Bayport," Mr. Hardy said thoughtfully.

"It hasn't happened yet," Joe said. "The man wouldn't give me his name, he just said there was going to be a major spill and the fault lay with the Dawson Chemical Company."

"You believed him?" asked Frank.

"Not really," Joe replied. "I did, however, decide it would make a good topic. After I started my research though, I did begin to wonder."

"Why did you want to see the public records on Dawson Chemical?" Frank asked, stifling a yawn.

"I wanted to know what chemicals they store and ship, and what they do with their waste. I also wanted to look at their financial status," Joe answered.

"Good idea," praised Mr. Hardy. "You two check out the public records tomorrow after Joe's visit to headquarters."

"Tomorrow morning?" asked Frank.

"Today," Mr. Hardy amended, looking at his watch. "I know I said you could solve mysteries as long as it didn't interfere with your education, but I believe an exception is in order here." He paused and looked at each of his sons before continuing. "I received a call from Washington shortly before Joe was found. I don't like leaving right now but..." he shook his head as he broke off.

"We understand Dad," Joe told him.

Mr. Hardy smiled and said, "If you need any help, call Sam Radley." Sam was not only an associate of their father's but also his best friend.

"Sorry," Joe apologized after a particularly long yawn.

"Good night Joe," Mr. Hardy said. "I'll drop in and say good-bye before I leave in the morning."

"Night baby brother," Frank said softly, noticing Joe's even breathing and closed eyes.

"Let's grab a bite to eat before we go to the town hall," suggested Joe the next morning after he and Frank had left the police station.

"We could get Sam to do the research on Dawson," Frank said later, as he sat down with his order of fries and a burger. "That way we could devote the day to going over what you learned at the library and morgue."

"Could the fires have been a trial run to see how the fire department would handle a possible toxic situation?" Joe wondered, his eyes sparkling with a theory.

"What do you mean?" asked Frank with interest.

"Kevin said because of the chemicals stored in the warehouses they had to take extra precautions to protect themselves and the environment. There could have been a major catastrophe if the chemicals had escaped their containment canisters."

"So why didn't something drastic happen?" Frank wanted to know.

"The canisters survived the fires intact," Joe replied.

"Three fires with the potential for a major disaster and nothing happened?" Frank asked in disbelief. "What are the odds of that happening?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "I'm going to call Sam," he said and went in search of a phone.

"He'll call us this evening with the information," Frank told Joe upon his return. "Let's head over to the library."

The boys spent the next few hours pouring over pamphlets, microfiche, and slides as they researched chemical regulations and previous related disasters. Finally, they called it quits and headed home.

"You really picked a big subject," Frank complained to Joe when they were seated at the kitchen table.

"I was going to narrow it down but something came up," Joe said dryly.

"Let's see what we have," Frank said as he and Joe laid their notes on the table.

Joe grinned at Frank. "This is the first time I've had help on an assignment and haven't had to ask for it," he joked.

"Go soak your head," Frank responded, gently rapping Joe on the shoulder.

"The incidents of chemical disasters are on the rise," Joe said. "There have been several acts passed to help control the dangers but because of the vast variety and amount of chemicals, as well as the time it has taken to get some of these things passed, there really hasn't been much of a dent made in their control."

He picked up a note card. "The Toxic Substance Control Act added over sixty thousand chemicals to the label of toxicology but the Environmental Protection Agency doesn't require testing on more than five hundred of them."

Frank gave a low whistle. "That leaves a lot of open territory."

Joe nodded and picked up another card. "A Clean Air Act required companies to post a worst case scenario, but the board that was to ensure compliance was never formed due to lack of funding. What have you got?" He asked Frank.

"An average of one incident occurs every day that involves either an injury, evacuation, or death in the United States alone. Thanks to the EPA, companies are now required to list their toxic inventories. This allows communities to prepare for the worst case scenarios by having chemical spill drills," Frank read from another note card.

"It will also allow us to know what was being stored in Dawson's warehouses," Joe added. "As much as I don't want to, I guess it's time for us to go to the paper's morgue," Joe added, setting the cards in his hands down on the table.

"Joe!" an excited voice greeted the Hardys as they entered the Bayport Times building. "I'm so glad you're all right." Liz came over and gave Joe a bear hug. "Callie called me last night and said you had been found. Are you here to finish your paper?" she asked.

"Thanks," Joe said, a little embarrassed by the attention. "Kind of," he answered her.

"Detective work," she said, understanding. "Gotta go," she added on hearing herself being paged. "Talk to you later."

"You were right," Frank told Joe later. "There isn't anything here that might put you on the endangered species list."

"We knew that," Joe said with a grunt of disgust. "It has to do with one of the people I spoke with," he added. "There's no other explanation."

Returning the slides to the desk, they met Liz again. "Did you find out about the body?" she asked.

"No," Frank answered. "The police haven't turned up any unexplained corpses."

"When you solve this case, I want an exclusive," she told them in a stern voice.

"Would we give it to anyone else?" Joe teased. "See you later," he added, as she returned to her desk. Turning around he bumped a man holding a cup of coffee.

"Sorry," mumbled the man, as coffee spilled all over Joe's shirt. The man quickly departed.

"You can be a klutz," Frank said, smiling as Joe tried unsuccessfully to blot the coffee stain at the water fountain.

Shaking his head, Joe groaned. "This was my favorite shirt."

"Chill," advised Frank. "Mom can get it out." Taking Joe by the arm, he led him outside. "Let's get going," he said. "I want to be home when Sam calls."

"Sam?" Joe asked, as he climbed into the van and laid his head back, closing his eyes.

"Yeah," Frank said, glancing over at Joe. "I called him earlier, remember?'

"Yeah," Joe answered softly, laying a hand on his stomach and grimacing in pain. "I don't feel so good," he added, each word coming out with a great effort.

"What's wrong?" Frank demanded, alarmed as Joe slumped in his seat and his breathing became shallow. 


	8. Chapter Eight

Frank jumped out of the van then took his brother and laid him on the sidewalk. After checking his vital signs he stepped back to the van and used the car phoe to call an ambulance.

Liz came rushing out of the building and knelt down beside Joe. "I saw you from my window," she told Frank. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know," Frank replied, then checked Joe's pulse again. Finding none, he lifted Joe's head back and began CPR. He was just starting to check for a pulse again when the paramedics arrived. Taking over, they opened Joe's shirt and began CPR. A few minutes later, Joe was breathing but still had not regained consciousness,

"Would you call Callie and ask her to pick mom up and meet us at the hospital?" Frank asked Liz.

Nodding her agreement, she watched as Joe was loaded into the ambulance. Frank climbed into the ambulance with Joe. After arriving at the hospital, Joe was whisked away and Frank made to wait. When he was allowed back to where Joe was being treated, he found Joe resting on the bed with a heart monitor attached to his chest.

"Joe?" Frank asked softly, as he leaned over his brother. Joe moaned and moved his head, but didn't wake up. A few minutes later, his mother and Callie came into the room.

"What's wrong with him?" Mrs. Hardy asked Frank tearfully.

Frank shook his head and was about to reply when Dr. Bates entered the room and answered for him. "Nothing as far as I can tell," he stated, completely mystified.

"Nothing?" Frank demanded hotly. "A person doesn't stop breathing if there isn't anything wrong with him!"

"We've ran some preliminary tests on him but they showed nothing," Dr. Bates explained. "I would like to keep him and run some more extensive tests."

"No way!" Joe, who had finally awoken, spoke up. "We're on a major case. Besides, I feel fine," he added, sitting up.

"You weren't fine an hour ago," Frank said sternly.

"Your health is more important," Mrs. Hardy told Joe. "You will stay here until the doctor says otherwise," she ordered.

"If these guys are up to what we think they are, then it may not matter where I am. If we don't stop them, then a lot of peoople will die," Joe tried to reason with her.

"What are they up to?" she asked.

"We think it may have something to do with the chemical plant," Frank answered for Joe.

"A spill?" Callie asked, her eyes wide as she thought about the implications.

"It's a possibility," Frank agreed.

Joe removed the monitor, jumped out of bed and went to the locker to get his clothes. Pulling out his shirt, he frowned at he coffee stain. "Can you get this out?" he asked his mother, pointing to the stain.

"Coffee stains aren't too hard to get rid of," she told him.

"Joe," broke in dr. Bates. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be drinking coffee until after we've ran those tests. Caffeine can have an adverse effect on the heart."

"I didn't drink this," Joe informed him. buttoning the shirt. "Someone spilled it on me at the newspaper office," he added slowly, his breathing becoming labored once again.

"Joe!" shouted Dr. Bates as he raced to joe's side. Placing an arm under one of Joe's, he half-carried Joe back to the bed. "Help me get his shirt off," he urged Frank, as he noticed an odd odor rising from Joe's shirt. Frank unbuttoned the top two buttons and pulled the shirt off over Joe's head.

Dr. Bates snatched the shirt from Frank's hands and dropped it on the floor. Next, he checked joe's vital signs and, finding a slow pulse, hit the nurse call button. "Get some oxygen in here stat!" he ordered. After it had been brought in and Joe had been placed under the mask, Dr. bates pulled a hazardous waste disposal bag from a drawer beneath the bed.

"What is it?" Frank asked, noticing the caution the doctor was taking with Joe's shirt.

"I think I just found the cause of Joe's malady," he answered.

"Huh?" mumbled Joe from behind the mask as he once again became aware of his surroundings.

"Your shirt smells like it has carbon tetrachloride on it," Dr. bates told him.

"What's that?" Callie asked, tilting her head to the side as she tried to remember if she had ever heard of it.

"It's a poison," Dr. Bates informed the group. "The smell was probably hidden by the coffee when it was wet, but as it dried, the poisonous odor remained while the coffee odor evaporated."

"So they tried to kill Joe again," Mrs. Hardy stated, her eyes filled with concern.

"And they'll keep trying yntil we can put a stop to it," Frank said, anger in every inch of him at the people responsible.

"Does this mean I can go now?" Joe asked, removing the oxygen mask.

"Let me give you a final check," Dr. Bates said. "Then you may leave. I'll have your shirt sent to our lab to check my suspicions."

"I've never heard of carbon tetrachloride," Frank said. "What kind of poison is it?"

"It used to be quite easy to obtain," his mother surprised him by answering. "Back in the fifties it was used in cleaning solvents for airplane motors, but was banned when it caused several deaths."

After Joe's release, Callie dropped Frank and Joe and their mother off at the newspaper office so they could retrieve the van. Arriving home, Frank checked the answering machine to see if Sam had called before going into his room to review the notes he and Joe had collected earlier. Joe went to his room to take a nap.

"Hello," Frank answered the phone on the first ring half an hour later.

"Frank," Sam whispered. "I've got the information you wanted."

"What's wrong?" Frank asked, picking up on Sam's troubled tone.

"I think someone may be trying to listen in," he replied softly. "Guess not," he amended a few seconds later. "There he goes."

"On a case?" Frank asked.

"Yes," Sam admitted then changed the subject. "Financially, the Dawson Chemical Company is in the black. They've been increasing in profits for the past three years."

"There goes the arson for insurance theory," grumbled Frank. "Did you find out anything about their inventory?"

"Yes," he said. "And I even have it broken down to show which chemicals were stored at each warehouse," he added happily."

"Great!" Frank shouted.

"It's a fairly long list," Sam told him. "I'll bring it over in a bit."

"I can come and get it," offered Frank.

"No," Sam refused. "I'm not at home And until I wrap up this case, I won't be going back there."

"Thanks Sam," Frank said and hung up. Going into his brother's room, he flipped on the light. "Wake up," he ordered Joe, who groaned and pulled his pillow over his head. "Come on," Frank urged. "You're never going to get enough sleep to make you look beautiful and," he stopped abruptly as a pillow hit him in the face. "And Sam will be here in a little while," he added with a sly grin, as he reached over and yanked the quilt off of Joe.

"Did he find anything out?" Joe asked after a yawn had escaped him. Frank told him what Sam had said. When he had finished Joe asked, "Did you go over the notes again?"

"Yeah," Frank answered with defeat. "There has to be something else because there isn't anything there worth killing anyone over."

"Maybe if I start on my research paper I might figure out what it could be," Joe suggested.

"But you hadn't started it before," Frank pointed out.

"I know," Joe replied with a shrug. "But I may remember something Kevin, or that guy in front of the plant said that I have forgotten."

"It's worth a try, I suppose," Frank agreed.

"Dinner's ready," said Mrs. Hardy, knocking on Frank's door a little later. "You two have been in here a long time," she added when Joe opened the door.

"We've been going over some of the facts we've gathered," Joe told her. "I'm trying to sort it out and cut it down to a manageable topic. There's a lot of information," he added with a grimace. Mrs. Hardy gave Joe a sympathetic smile becuase she knew how much Joe hated doing homework.

"Nothing we've come across so far relates to the case at hand," Frank added. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "This is taking forever." To emphasize the point, he stood up and stretched.

"But Sam's bringing us a list of Dawson Chemical's Tier Two," Joe said optimistically. At his mother's confused frown, he explained. "The Tier Two is a detailed inventory of the chemicals stored by the plant."

"It sounds tedious," Mrs. Hardy commented as she turned and left the room. The boys followed her downstairs and were just about to enter the dining room when there was a knock at the front door.

"That mus tbe Sam," Frank said as he and Joe retreated down the hallway to the front door.

"Hi boys," Sam greeeted them when the door was opened. A master of disguise, Sam was dresssed as a hobo complete with a pair of loafers with a hole in the right big toe.

"Going under," Joe noted, grinning at his friend after placing the voice.

"Yeah," Sam admitted. "Here's the list," he said, handing them some papers. "Sorry I can't stay," he added with a wave good-bye as he left.

The boys ate dinner with their mother then retreated to Frank's room with the list. Picking up one sheet and looking at it, Joe began. "The last warehouse that caught fire, the one I was in," he clarified, "was storing arsenic peentoxide, bromine, butyl vinyl ether...Where do they get these names?" Joe asked, breaking off hsi monologue and looking over a tFrank.

"Never mind," Frank waved Joe's question aside with impatience. "Finish the list."

"Carvone, chloroform, demeton, and diborane," Joe finished the first list.

"If all that stuff was in there with you then why are you still breathing?" Frank wondered out loud, recognizing some of the names.

"The containers were fireproof," Joe stated.

"Then why burn the place?" Frank asked.

"If we knew, then this case would be solved," Joe said with exaggerated patience.

Tossing a pen at him, Frank asked, "What were in the other warehouses?"

"Benzyl chloride, cobalt, ethion, fludrine, fosthietan, and isobenzan were in one. The third held fonofos, lewisite, lithiumhydride, methomyl,ethyl phenkapton, methyl thiocyanate and nitric acid. The fourth warehouse holds nitric oxide, phenol, phosphorus, purene, sulfur trioxide and terbufos."

"I can't beleve they were allowed to store all of those dangerous chemicals at the docks," Frank said in disbelief.

"I learned from one of the guys at the fire station that the company found a loophole in the local zoning regulations which allowed them to store their inventory there even though they couldn't do any processing at the site."

"But still, just to let those wooden buildings store this stuff is a catastrophe waiting to happen," Frank argued.

"The frames of the warehouses are metallic," Joe informed him. "A wooden exterior was built around each one in order to make them fit into their surroundings. Also, the chemicals themselves are stored in metal cylinders cushioned with a special flame retardant bubble packing inside of specially constructed crates."

"If the building was made of metal, how did it burn?" Frank demanded.

"It must have reached the metal's melting point," Joe said.

"So it's possible none of the cylinders containing the chemicals actually burned?" questioned Frank.

"It's possible," Joe agreed hesitantly, thinking about the extra protection the cylinders have. "Kevin said the cylinders at the first two warehouses wre lying around looking worse for the wear but still intact."

"But?" prodded Frank.

"But how possible can it be for not even one cylinder to leak during a fire that has to be hot enough to melt the steel frames of the warehouses?"

"I see what you mean," Frank said, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "The law of probability would assure at the very least one cylinder would be damaged to the point of danger. I guess this means they had better take better care if the last warehouse goes."

"Unless they're trying to let everyone think these fires aren't serious and then during the fifth one, some real damage occurs."

"Fifth?" Frank asked, snapping his head around to look at his brother. "There isn't a fifth warehouse," he said, a bit doubtfully.

"There is, however, a fifth storage facility and it's holding some heavy duty chemicals. Cyanogen bromide, hydrocyanic acid, thiophenol," he read from the list. "There are a few more," he said, looking up at Frank, and putting the sheet down. "According to this sheet, the fifth storage facility is the plant itself."

"Do these five areas hold all the chemicals?" Frank asked.

"Considering the fifth one is at the plant, I would assume so," Joe replied.

"Why do you think they're planning on waiting untill the plant goes before the spill is arranged?" Frank asked Joe.

"Two reasons," Joe told him. "First, that's where the most hazardous chemicals are kept. Second, storing facilities are less stringent for an on-site storage facility than they are for off-site storage. Even if they followed all the rules, the damage would be greater than at the docks."

"Mmm," murmured Frank as he lay down and drifted off to sleep. Joe went to his room and brought back a blanket to cover Frank with then sat down before the computer and pulled up the file with his rough draft. It was close to midnight when he turned off the computer and went to bed. It seemed like only minutes had passed after he had closed his eyes when he was being shaken awake.

"Come on," Frank urged as he shook Joe's shoulder again. "Wake up."

Joe opened one eye and peered at Frank's excited face. Wondering why he was so happy this morning, Joe sat up and looked at him. "What's up?" he asked sleepily.

"I was reading your paper this morning and realized you had a great idea."

"I did?" Joe asked. then quickly added, "Of course I did. I have lots of great ideas. To which one are you referring?" he ended in puzzlement.

"You wrote about improving safety by better screening the people involved," esplained Frank, grinning at Joe's faltering ego. "We haven't really devoted any time to the people there except for the guard and Charles Dawson."

"I get it," Joe sais, jumping out of bed. "We need to run a check on everyone at the plant."

"That would take too much time," Frank denied, shaking his head. "What we need to do is find out who has access to the area at any given time and start eliminating people as suspects."

"What suspects?" Joe demanded. "My kidnapers sure, but who else? We're not even positive we're on the right track."

"True, we haven't been able to figure out what is going on except," he emphasized the word, "there may be a spill planned provided the guy who told you about it knew something. We need to discover someone with a motive and what the reason is for the fires. To do that we need to know who at the plant has access to all the warehouses. Right now, everyone at the plkant is a suspect."

"I guess that makes sense," Joe said, frowing a bit.

"Get dressed," Frank told him. "Mom's gone out, but since I've just had my shower, I'll fix you something for breakfast while you get ready," he added as he left the room whistling.

"You said their security is strict," Joe said, putting on his paint cap. "Are you sure this is going to get us inside?"

"You got a better idea?" Frank asked, lifting one eyebrow. Joe shook his head and got out of the van. Taking the leather jacket his brother handed to him, he threw it over the top of the fence to cover the barbed wire.

"Are you sure their electric eye is off?" he asked, looking back at Frank. He was referring to part of the plant's security system.

"They only activate it at night," Frank assured him. "I had Phil check it out."

Joe sighed and went over the fence. Landing on the other side, he tossed the jacket back over to Frank. "If you didn't think we might need the van for a quick get-away, I wouldn't do this," he grumbled to Frank before taking off for one of the buildings.

Frank climbed into the van and tossed the jacket onto the back floorboard. He waited ten minutes to give Joe time to get into position, then drove to the gate. Recognizing the guard, Frank was grateful he had taken the time to add a wig and mustache from his father's disguise kit. He and Joe had put cling signs on each side of the van advertising the DARREL & SONS PAINT COMPANY.

The guard looked up as Frank came to a stop. There was no glimmer of recognition in the man's eyes, and Frank gave an inaudible sigh of relief. "I'm sorry," the guard said, after checking his list. "There are no painters listed to be allowed inside today."

"But I'm supposed to be here," Frank argued. "Mr. Dawson called earlier this morning and asked us to do a rush job. He's expecting some bigwig and needed it done today."

"Then you would be on the list," the guard denied.

"But he let us in this morning," Frank whined. "We forgot some brushes and I had to go back for them."

"You expect me to believe he let you in himself?" the guard asked sarcastically. At Frank's earnest nod, he smiled. "Okay," he said, picking up the phone. "We'll see." 


	9. Chapter Nine

"What kept you so long?" a voice demanded from behind the guard.

The guard turned and looked around to see another young man, dressed in painter's pants, an old, paint-spattered tee shirt, and a painter's cap covering a shock of red hair which stood out in contrast to the green paint splotches on his shirt.

"What took you so long? You were only supposed to pick up a few brushes," Joe reprimanded Frank. "We've got a rush job."

"Sorry Jed," Frank answered, looking put-out. "This guy won't let me back inside," he added, jerking a thumb at the guard.

"Uh, sorry," the guard finally said. "I'm just doing my job," he defended himself.

"And a great job too," bragged Frank. "But I can't do mine," he added forlornly.

"Look, give me your name and I'll put it down so you can come back in today without a hassle in case you have to go for something else," offered the guard.

"Kenny Darrel," Frank said, sticking out his hand. "And that's my brother, Jed," he added, nodding toward Joe.

"The guard shook Frank's hand but just nodded at Joe when he noticed the green paint on his hand.

"Nice touch," Frank told Joe after he had parked the van and come over to where Joe had been waiting. "Where did you get the paint?"

"Would you believe behind the guard's booth?" Joe asked, grinning broadly. Frank laughed and the two made their way to the building housing the offices.

"Remember," Frank warned Joe as they went inside, "keep as low a profile as possible. We don't want anyone seeing through your disguise. You're still on the endangered list." He headed toward the stairwell. "I'll take the second floor and you scout around down here."

Upstairs, Frank was confronted by the receptionist. Annoyance on her face, she stood as he entered and demanded, "Where have you been?" Placing her hands on her slender hips, her brown eyes drawn together in consternation, she added, "You were called two hours ago."

"Sorry, my van broke down," Frank said, ad-libbing.

"Be that as it may, you were hired by the day, not the hour," she informed him.

"Relax lady," Frank drawled, adopting a laid back attitude. "I'll put over time in this evening to make up for it."

"Indeed," she snorted, looking down her nose at him. "Well, go on," she shooed him.

Unsure which way to go, Frank dropped to one knee and tightened his shoelace. "Are you going to Mr. Kurtz' office or not?" she demanded.

She waited a moment, tapping her foot impatiently until Frank rose. "Oh," she said suddenly, stopping the movement of her foot and bringing one palm up to cover her mouth. "You should have said you didn't know where to go. I'd forgotten you hadn't been here before." Before he could respond, she continued, "His office is the last door." She pointed down the hallway. "The paint and all necessary equipment have been delivered."

"It's customary for the painter to furnish his own brushes," Frank couldn't resist telling her.

"Only the best will do for our vice-president," she informed him haughtily. "Although you certainly seem to be less at the moment," she added.

Frank wrinkled his nose at her then headed down the hallway to the vice-president's office. "I'm glad I don't work for her," he mumbled as he entered the office and closed and locked the door behind him. Letting out a low whistle he looked at his surroundings. The office was four times the size of his bedroom and held not only the expected desk, chair and file cabinets, but also a couch with two matching chairs, a coffee table and two end tables.

Stepping over several brushes and cans of paint, he shoved the drop cloth off the desk and chair and sat down. Opening the top left drawer, he went through its contents looking for anything that might be a clue. He had worked his way through the bottom drawer when there came a light rap at the door.

"Frank," came a loud whisper from the other side of the door. He quickly went to the door and let Joe inside.

"What are you doing up here?" Frank asked.

"I got caught downstairs and was ordered to come up here," Joe explained. "Find anything?"

"Not yet," Frank answered. "I was just about to search the drawers on the right side of the desk."

"I'll check the files," Joe offered, walking over to them and tugging at the top drawer. "They're locked," he informed Frank.

"I'll do those," Frank said, coming over and pulling out his lock pick kit. "You check the right side of the desk."

Joe walked over to the desk and sat down. "Who is this guy?" he asked, picking up a picture frame. Frank walked over and looked at the picture of a man and a woman.

"It's probably the vice-president," Frank said with a shrug. "It's his office. Why?"

"Because this is the guy I talked to Saturday morning," Joe told him excitedly.

"The one who mentioned the future chemical spill?" asked Frank, surprised. At Joe's nod, he added, "Then we need to talk to him."

"We can't ask the receptionist if we can see him," Joe cautioned. "She's worse than the KGB."

"She's rough all right," Frank agreed with a sigh. "Maybe we can ask someone else where he is."

They replaced the drop cloths they had moved and locked the file cabinet before leaving the room. Frank stopped at the first door and knocked.

"Enter," came a gruff voice.

Opening the door, Frank poked his head inside. "Hi," he said. "I need to know if Mr. Kurtz wanted me to exchange this paint for him. It's off a shade from the other," he added.

"Use common sense, man," snorted the young man in the office. "If it doesn't match, surely it should be changed."

"I didn't know if he wanted this color for the ceiling though," Frank improvised.

Sighing, the man shook his head. "I don't know," he stated. "You'll probably have to speak with Dawson," he said, referring to the president of the company. "Kurtz has left town on business and won't be back until the end of the month."

"Oh," Frank said, feigning consternation. "When did he leave?"

"Friday," he was told.

"Thanks," Frank said. "I guess I will have to ask Mr. Dawson. Which office is his?"

"Downstairs," was the answer. "Last door on the left." His voice dismissive, as were his actions as he turned his back to Frank and began typing on his keyboard.

"Did you hear that?" Frank asked Joe as they headed downstairs.

"Yeah," Joe acknowledged. "But he didn't leave Friday. I saw him Saturday."

"Maybe the guy in the frame wasn't Kurtz," Frank suggested.

"You don't believe that," Joe said, coming to a halt and placing a hand on Frank's shoulder.

"Not really," Frank admitted with a sigh and a slight shake of his head. "If he was supposed to have left town, then why was he still here on Saturday? Where is he now?"

"And why mention a chemical spill to me?" Joe added to the growing list of questions.

"Let's see if we can find anything on the first floor," Frank suggested. "You stay here while I go see Dawson. If he's involved, he might recognize you."

"In this disguise?" asked Joe. "I doubt it. Besides, you were waylaid so they know you too. And my disguise is a bit better than yours," Joe added, grinning as he straightened Frank's fake mustache.

"Okay," Frank relented. "But keep your head down."

Joe smiled and walked down the hall. "I wonder what Kurtz knows?" he whispered to Frank.

"And why he didn't go to the authorities instead of talking to you," Frank whispered back.

"Hello," Joe said after knocking on Dawson's door and being told to come in. "We were working upstairs and..." His voice trailed off as he looked at the back of Charles Dawson.

"And what?" Dawson snapped, spinning around. Joe quickly lowered his head.

"And we were wondering about the odd gallon of paint," Frank said, jumping in to pick up the slack Joe had left.

"What odd gallon?" Dawson demanded, then continued without waiting for a reply. "You are being paid to paint an office. Surely that doesn't require too much brain work?" he snarled at the boys, his face red with a mixture of anger and annoyance.

"One gallon of paint doesn't match the others," Frank used the same fib as earlier. As angry as Dawson seemed he saw no point in trying to learn anything from him. "We didn't know if Mr. Kurtz wanted it for the ceiling, trim, or if it was just the wrong color."

"Use if for the trim," Dawson told them. "Now if you'll excuse me," he said, dismissing them.

"Does everyone who works there have an attitude problem?" Joe asked as they got into they left the building and got into the van.

"Seems that way," Frank stated. "What was wrong back there?" he asked.

"From behind, Dawson looks like the boss from the warehouse," Joe told him with a frown. "His voice sure sounded familiar too." He shook his head. "We still don't know where Kurtz is."

"Let's check the flight lists and see if he ever did leave town," Joe suggested after a few moments of silence.

"That wouldn't tell us much," Frank pointed out. "He could have been scheduled but not made the flight. He may even have left town by rail or car," he added.

Their mother was just hanging up the phone when they arrived home. "That was your father," she informed them. "He's arriving home on the evening flight from D.C. You'll have to pick him up at the airport." Looking at Joe, she added, "Dr. Bates called. It was carbon tetrachloride on Joe's shirt."

"We've got a big score to settle with these guys," Frank asserted, his brown eyes flashing.

After lunch, Frank shut himself in his room to work at his computer and Joe sprawled out on the couch with the morning paper. A little while later Joe put the paper down and went outside to change the oil in the van. Frank heard the downstairs door close as Joe went to the garage. Minutes later a loud explosion ripped through the air. 


	10. Chapter Ten

Frank raced down the stairs and out into the front yard where he saw his brother lying face down. Going over and kneeling down, he was about to see if Joe was breathing when he rolled over and squinted up at Frank.

"Guess I didn't quite make it," Joe said, starting to get up.

"Stay down," ordered Frank, gently pushing him back down. "You might be hurt."

"I'm not," Joe said, grinning at his brother reassuringly. "I did manage to toss the bomb far enough to avoid that before I hit the ground and covered my head," he added, sitting up again.

"Are you hurt?" Mrs. Hardy asked as she rushed over to her sons. She had been in the kitchen washing dishes when the explosion occurred. She knelt beside Joe as Frank stood.

"I'm fine," Joe told her as she leaned over and smoothed a few stray hairs from his forehead.

"What happened?" Frank asked, raising his voice a bit to be heard over the approaching sirens.

"I popped the hood and there was a bomb connected to the engine. I tried to disconnect it but when I unhooked it from the car, the timing mechanism kicked on showing ten seconds until detonation. I grabbed it and ran as far as I could before throwing it." They turned to look at the corner of the yard where a lone tree stood ablaze from the blast. "I tried to toss it into the empty lot next door, but my aim was a little off," he added, looking on as the firemen arrived to put out the flames.

A few minutes later one of the firefighters came over to them. "Joe!" Kevin exclaimed. "You're okay."

"Yeah," Joe replied, smiling. "I thought you were off after Sunday."

"One of the guys got the flu so I agreed to fill in for him. What happened to you?" Kevin asked, changing the subject. "Why were you kidnapped? How did you get away?"

"I'll tell you all about it later," Joe promised. "Right now though, we have a question for you."

"Shoot," Kevin obliged.

"Do you know what kind of bomb it was?" Frank asked.

"Not yet," was the reply. "But it would help if you could tell us what it looked like," Kevin added, becoming all business.

"It was about four inches long with a timer on the top," Joe informed him. "The timer wasn't activated until I tried to remove it from the van."

"Why wouldn't whoever planted the bomb activate the timer?" Kevin asked.

"It was probably rigged to activate after the van was started," Frank replied.

"Most people would have left it for the bomb squad," Mrs. Hardy said, looking pointedly at her youngest son.

"But these two aren't most people," Kevin said with admiration. "They're detectives."

"I know," Mrs. Hardy said with long-suffering patience. "I know."

"There has to be something we've missed," Frank complained, not for the first time since this case began, as he and Joe drove to the airport to pick up their father.

"There's a lot we've missed," Joe grumbled in agreement.

"Finding out what kind of bomb that was didn't help either," Frank added. Kein had called and told them the bomb had been made with a mixture of highly explosive chemicals. "We already knew chemicals figure broadly into this case."

Frank gave himself a mental shake as they pulled into the airport parking lot. "I'll go and see if Dad's flight has arrived yet," he told Joe after they had entered the terminal.

Frank walked up to the counter where a graying, robust woman stood. "Welcome to Bayport Air," she greeted him with a smile.

"Hi," Frank said, smiling back at her. "I was wondering if you could help me?" he asked.

"That's what I'm here for," she responded cheerfully.

"It's a little awkward," he began, nervously running a hand through his hair. "You see, my dad called and left a message for me to pick him up at the airport on our answering machine, but we live in Southport," he said, naming a city located southwest of Bayport which had no airport of its own. "And I'm not sure if he meant this airport or the one in Brayson." Brayson was a little larger city southwest of Southport. "I was hoping you could tell me if he was on the nine o'clock flight tomorrow morning."

"I'm sorry," she said sympathetically. "We don't have a passenger list this early in advance."

"Oh," came the forlorn reply from a downcast Frank. "If I only knew which airport he left from this past weekend."

"Well, now," she said, smiling as an idea took shape. "I can check to see if he left from here."

"You can?" Frank asked, brightening.

"Of course," she answered. "Just tell me his name and which day he left on."

"Samuel Kurtz," he told her. "I'm not sure if he left on a Friday or Saturday. I spent the weekend with some friends," he explained.

"Let's see," she said pushing keys on her keyboard. "Ah, yes," she said. "Your father is a frequent flier with our airline. The last flight he was scheduled for was on Friday at six p.m. to Boston."

"Great!" Frank said with relief. "Now I don't have to drive all the way to Brayson. I'll just spend another night here with my friends and pick him up tomorrow. Thanks for your help," he gratefully replied before leaving the counter.

After checking his father's flight on the schedule board, he returned to where he had left Joe. "I found out about Kutz' flight." He told Joe about his conversation with the receptionist. "Since you talked to him on Saturday, he never made his flight," Frank ended.

"Then why is he pretending he's out of town?" Joe wondered out loud.

"Maybe he's in hiding," Frank suggested. "Or he could have been kidnapped." He was about to say more when their father's flight was announced.

On the way home the boys told some of what had been happening in their father's absence and then Mr. Hardy filled them in on his trip.

"So who is this bigwig who's coming to Bayport?" Joe asked, munching on a bag of potato chips he had bought out of a vending machine at the airport.

"His name is Rashid and he's coming to Bayport to view our waste facility," Mr. Hardy told them.

"This prince is coming all the way from Asia to see a waste treatment plant?" Joe asked in disbelief. "Why?'

"Because our waste facility has only one other like it in the world," Frank informed Joe with an air of superiority only older brothers possess.

"Huh?" Joe asked, tilting his head to one side, allowing a lock of blond hair to fall across his forehead.

"Our facility is one of two experimental plants that uses swamp plants, bacteria, sunshine, and other natural elements to cleanse waste-water," Mr. Hardy explained.

"Right," Frank confirmed. "The process turns waste-water into drinkable water without the use of any chemicals."

"If it's such a good thing then why are there only two?" Joe asked.

"They're expensive to convert," Frank began only to be interrupted by an impatient Joe.

"If it's all natural, then why does it cost so much?"

"You didn't let your brother finish," reprimanded Mr. Hardy.

"The set-up is what cost so much. After the initial expense, it's actually cheaper. The problem is that most people don't understand how contaminated water can be fit to drink in just three or four days. And also worth mentioning is the fact that people are wary of investing large sums of money into projects they don't understand," Frank added.

"But it's the government who controls that stuff," argued Joe.

"The government is only an extension of the people," Mr. Hardy reminded him.

"But still, why are there only two?" Joe persisted. "Surely, in the long term it would be worth it?"

"You know how budgets are," Frank told him. "People want change to be evident in the short term and they want that change to be cheap. Besides, the new treatment hasn't been approved yet," Frank concluded.

"Approved by who?" Joe demanded.

"The Food and Drug Administration," Frank said.

"So why is the prince interested in this facility?" Joe asked his dad.

"His country is opening a new waste-treatment plant and this would be ideal. It would be the world's first, full-scale, all natural facility."

"When is he arriving?" Frank asked, pulling the van into the Hardy driveway.

"The day after tomorrow. He will be accompanied by his Prime Minister and six bodyguards. Our government has provided an additional eight bodyguards," Mr. Hardy informed them. "I'm responsible for the security from the airport to the hotel on the day of his arrival as well as the actual visit to the facility."

"Why so much security?" Joe asked, climbing out of the van and stretching his legs.

"There were threats against the prince before this trip was even proposed," Mr. Hardy told them with a concerned frown. He picked up the evening paper from the steps and went inside followed by Frank and Joe.

Over dinner Joe turned the conversation toward Dawson Chemical. "We still don't know why they would want a chemical spill," he concluded, after telling his father about their investigation.

"Did you see any of your kidnapers at the plant apart from the man you assume to be the boss?" queried Mr. Hardy.

"Uh-uh," Joe said, shaking his head.

"Perhaps a return visit is in order," Mr. Hardy suggested with the lift of an eyebrow.

"First thing tomorrow," Frank assured him as they rose from the table. Mrs. Hardy stayed to clear away the dishes from the table while Mr. Hardy and the boys went into the living room and sat down.

Joe flicked on the television to catch the evening news while his dad picked up the paper. "That's him!" Frank shouted, startling Joe and Mr. Hardy. "That's Kurtz!" 


	11. Chapter Eleven

"Where?" Joe demanded, jumping to his feet and looking around.

"Where?" echoed Mr. Hardy, lowering the paper and starting to rise.

"On the front of the paper," Frank told them and pointed to it.

Mr. Hardy sank back into his chair and closed the paper. Looking at a man in his mid-fifties with graying hair, Mr. Hardy's eyes roved down the paper to the accompanying article. "It seems your Mr. Kurtz was found near the airport."

"He was in hiding?" Frank asked.

"No," Mr. Hardy replied, shaking his head and handing Frank the paper. "His car was found off a side road on Friday night. It had been covered with branches to hide it. A jogger found it with Kurtz inside."

"The police think the incident started out as a ransom theft with Kurtz being killed in the heat of the moment," Frank told Joe as he read the article.

"Heat of the moment?" Joe asked, bewildered.

"First class homicide," Mr. Hardy informed him. "It means it started out as something less major but something happened to escalate the crime."

"What else does it say?" Joe asked, taking the paper from his brother.

"That's it," Frank said, reaching for the phone. "Hi Con," Frank said into the receiver a minute later. Con Riley was a sergeant with the Bayport Police Department and a good friend of the Hardys.

"Hello Frank," Con answered. "No you can't."

"Can't what?" Frank asked, surprised.

"Whatever it is you want to do," was the good humored reply. "Whenever you call, you always want something that's going to get me in trouble with the Chief."

"Not this time," Frank quickly assured him. "Actually, we might be able to help you out," he continued.

"I'm going to hate myself for asking, but how?"

"You found the body of Samuel Kurtz, right?" Frank began.

"Very good!" commended Con sarcastically. "You can read the paper."

"Look," Frank said, growing agitated. "Kurtz is the guy Joe talked to the day he was kidnapped."

"Go on," Con urged.

"Kurtz was scheduled to leave town Friday night."

"But he was waylaid en route," Con interrupted. "We know."

"No!" Frank practically screamed in frustration. "Joe talked to him Saturday morning near the plant," he said, speaking each word distinctly to make his point.

"Is he positive it was Kurtz?" Con demanded.

"Yes," affirmed Frank.

"You two come downtown so Joe can do a positive I.D., then we'll talk," Con promised.

While Joe went for his jacket, Frank pulled his father aside and whispered a request. Mr. hardy smiled and nodded his consent. On Joe's return to the room, Mr. Hardy bid the boys farewell and good luck on their case as he would be leaving again in the morning to begin preparations for the prince's visit.

"That could be the guy I talked to," Joe said, mystified after seeing the body. "But that's not really possible if he died on Friday." He shook his head. "It's too hard to identify him with those cuts and bruises on his face. It's almost as if his face was messed up on purpose," he added quietly so only his brother could hear.

Con nodded his head at the morgue attendant who began zipping the body bag as the Hardys followed Con from the room.

"Why do you think the man you spoke with was Kurtz?" Con asked Joe.

"I saw him," Joe reminded Con. "Could he have a twin brother?"

"Not possible," Con told him, opening the door of his office and ushering them inside. Sitting down at his desk, he looked Joe right in the eyes. "I want to know when you saw Kurtz, what you talked about and anything else you can tell me about him."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Frank. "We want to know a few things first."

"I knew it," Con said with a wry grin. "Shoot."

"How long had Kurtz worked at Dawson Chemical?" Frank asked.

"Almost eight years."

"Does he have any family?" Joe asked.

"He was married when he was twenty, but his wife died three years later. They never had any children. He had one sister, Erma, who never married. They lived together on Cornhue Hills road."

"Did he have any enemies?" Frank asked.

"We couldn't find any," Con answered with a shake of his head. "That's why we classified it as a random theft. There seemed to be no other motive."

"Frank, didn't Liz say my captors mentioned something about a body?" Joe asked, looking over at his brother.

"What's this about a body?" Con asked in surprise.

"Liz overheard the men who grabbed Joe mention something about having gotten rid of a body," Frank told him.

"And this Kurtz is the only corpse on hand," Joe added.

"It's too much of a coincidence Kurtz worked at Dawson Chemical and the man Joe spoke with looked like him," Frank put in. "But they had all ready found this guy when you were kidnapped on Saturday," he added, looking at Joe.

"So?" Joe asked, not understanding what his brother was getting at.

"The police said they didn't have any corpses on hand when dad mentioned it," Frank said.

"Actually," Con corrected Frank, "we said we didn't have any unexplained bodies on hand."

"You thought you had Kurtz figured out," Joe said, understanding. "So you didn't think this could be the body being referred to at my abduction."

"Right," acknowledged Con a bit ruefully. "And we still can't be positive it is," he hurriedly reminded them, although he nor the Hardys believed otherwise.

"What have you done on this case to date?" Frank asked Con.

"We questioned his colleagues but came up empty," Con informed them. "But since he may be involved with Joe's kidnapping, we'll be questioning them again," he added.

"What did you think of Charles Dawson?" Frank asked, curiously.

Con's eyes narrowed on Frank. "Why?" he demanded.

"We were wondering if he could be involved, or if he might have a reason to get Kurtz out of the way," Frank replied.

"He was very helpful," Con stated. "He showed us the plant, let us examine Kurtz' office, question staff, and even provided us with a copy of Kurtz' itinerary."

"When did you examine Kurtz' office?" Joe queried.

"This afternoon," Con answered. "Erma Kurtz couldn't give us a positive make until today. We hadn't been able to reach her."

'That would explain why they had been plannin on painting the place,' Joe thought. 'They still thought Kurtz was away on business.'

"What about Dawson's background?" Frank asked.

"He was a pharmacist in California when his brother, Larry, died. Larry was the owner and CEO of Dawson Chemical, but he died in an auto accident. Charles had jut returned to California from visiting Larry when the accident happened."

"How long had Charles been back in California before Larry's accident?" Joe wanted to know.

"Charles was at work when he was contacted about Larry's accident the day after it happened. That was on a Monday." Con looked through his notes before continuing, "His plane left two days previously and yes," he added, anticipating their next question, "his ticket was used."

Sitting forward and cupping his hands on the desk, Con looked at Joe. "Now it's my turn," he said. "Let's start with the first thing you did when you left home Saturday morning."

Soon they were finished and left the building. "Let's go pay a visit to Erma Kurtz," Frank suggested. "It's not too late," he added, glancing at his watch.

"Let's go then," Joe agreed. "Dad only got us excused from school for a week or until we solve this mystery, whichever comes first, and so far we've hit a lot of dead ends."

"Impressive," Joe said, giving an appreciative whistle as Frank pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex on Cornhue Hills.

"Yeah," Frank agreed. "They designed this to resemble the French chalets that were..." he broke off as Joe grabbed his arm and pointed toward one of the windows. A figure was struggling halfway through a window on the side of the building.

The boys quietly climbed out of the van and made their way toward the intruder. Frank motioned for Joe to advance from the right. Nodding, Joe moved off. After giving Joe time to position himself, Frank closed in on the left.

"Can I help you?" he drawled, as he approached.

The intruder looked up, his mis-matched eyes freezing in recognition as he leaned out of the window and took a step towards Frank. Frank took a defensive stance he had learned in his karate class and waited.

As the thug advanced on him, Frank's concentration was disrupted by a cry for help from his brother. The distraction allowed Conner the time to whip out his pistol and bring it crashing onto the side of Frank's head. He fell to the ground unconscious. 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Seconds after Joe left Frank's side, he spied another figure crouched by a tree. He was practically on top of him when someone came up behind him and grabbed his arm and spun him around. He had a strange feeling of deja vu as a fist came at his face.

Ducking the blow, Joe struck out blindly. Hearing a grunt of pain, he knew his fist had made contact. Alerted to Joe's presence by the scuffle, the man by the tree joined in the fray.

Grabbing Joe in a headlock, he brought Joe to his knees and exerted pressure. Joe gave a strangled cry for help as a knee from the other assailant came crashing into his stomach. About to lose consciousness, Joe heard the distant wail of a siren.

His assailants, also hearing the approaching siren, released him and took off running, joined by Frank's attacker. After slowly rising to his feet, Joe staggered over to where Frank lay face down. He grabbed Frank's shoulder and gently shook it. Receiving no response, he shook a little harder.

"Easy," Frank said with a moan. He opened his eyes and was immediately assaulted by a stab of pain. Raising up on one elbow, he touched the side of his head. "Ouch!" he winced, making contact with his wound.

"Are you okay?" Joe asked with concern.

"I will be just as soon as we catch these guys," Frank vowed with a look of retribution.

"Freeze!" came a command with a familiar ring from out of the darkness. "Police!"

Joe grinned wryly at Frank then shouted, "Relax! It's only us."

"What are you two doing here?" Con demanded as he came over to where the boys were now standing. He was followed by two other officers. "We got a call about an attempted break-in."

"We saw a guy trying to climb in this window," Frank told him, indicating the window behind him. "We split up and he nailed me. What happened to you?" he asked Joe, suddenly remembering his earlier shout for help.

"I got ambushed by his two pals," Joe responded with a grimace.

"Did either of you get a good look at these guys?" Con asked them.

Frank admitted his foe was Conner. "And those two I grappled with were definitely two of the ones who kidnapped me," Joe added when Frank had finished.

"Are those the burglars?" broke in a crackly voice. Everyone turned to look at the woman who had come from the front of the building. She was small and plump with gray hair out-lining her pale face.

"Not exactly," Con answered her. "These two tried to stop the men who were trying to break into the premises."

"Oh, the Hardy brothers," she said with relief, getting a closer look at them. "I'm so glad you boys made it."

"You were expecting us?" Frank asked, perturbed.

"Since last week," she answered him with a smile.

"Excuse me," Joe said, recognizing the lady from the picture on Kurtz' desk. "I just met your brother Saturday."

"Sammy and I were talking about you boys early last week." Looking pointedly at the police she added, "But we'll talk more about that in a bit."

"I'll have a patrol car out here every hour for the rest of the night," Con offered, taking the hint.

"No sense in it," Ms. Kurtz told him crisply. "Those fiends won't be back now that Frank and Joe are here."

"But they won't be staying the night," Con stated.

"I know that!" she snapped at him, her green eyes flashing. "I may be a few decades older than you young man, but all of my senses are still intact."

"Yes'em," Con responded, swallowing nervously at being reprimanded like a schoolboy. "I just meant..." he began.

"Go away," she ordered, interrupting him. She held up her hand and waved him away. "The boys and I have some talking to do and it's not getting any earlier."

Frank and Joe followed her inside as the police drove away. "Now then," she said as the boys seated themselves on the sofa in the living room. "I'll get us all a drink and we can talk. Do you prefer coffee or soda?"

"Soda is fine," Frank answered for both of them. "Thank you."

When she returned a few minutes later she carried a tray on which were three sodas and a letter.

"Ms. Kurtz, why were you expecting us?" Joe asked as she sat down.

"Because of the chemical spill, of course," she told him, frowning at him as though she doubted his intelligence.

"Could you tell us about the spill?" Frank asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"Sammy worked at Dawson Chemical for years," she informed them. "He never had any problems when Larry Dawson was running the place, but when his brother took over a lot began to go wrong."

"Like what?"

"Little things at first," she answered. "Valves that were replaced by more faulty valves, packaging that disintegrated things of that nature. At first, Sammy thought Charles had merely switched to cheaper products in order to save money. But then other things started to go wrong. The fires you all ready know about, but there were also shortages in the inventory and mis-labeled products."

"What do these things have to do with a spill?" Joe asked, wishing she would get to the point.

"Sammy wasn't sure," she said, sighing and leaning back in her chair, looking older than she had outside. "He was going to see you two last Friday before his business trip." She smiled faintly at them before continuing, "We had read about your remarkable talent in the Bayport Times. Sammy figured if anyone could get to the bottom of this mystery, you two could."

"When was the last time you talked to your brother?" Frank asked.

"Friday morning," she replied. "He called me from the office and said he had overheard a conversation in Dawson's office."

"Did he mention what the conversation was about?"

"He said they were talking about a spill and it wouldn't be suspect because of all the other things which were going wrong."

"A chemical spill wouldn't be suspicious?" Frank asked incredulously as Joe nodded, knowingly. Frank looked askance at him.

"They've all ready had the warehouse fires, as well as minor stuff going wrong at the plant for some time. There would be an investigation into the spill but..." Joe broke off his explanation as Frank took over.

"But not into the cause behind it," Frank finished for him, his eyes twinkling in comprehension.

"What?" Ms. Kurtz asked, confused.

"The spill would be a cover up for something else," Joe said. "Because of the other things going wrong, it would probably be deemed an accident."

"To cover up for what?" she asked, seemingly in awe by what she was hearing.

"That's what we have to find out," Frank replied, then frowned. "Do you have any idea when this spill is supposed to take place?" he asked.

"No, I'm afraid not," she answered with a shake of her head. "I've told you all I know, which isn't much. Sammy felt if I knew more then my life would be in danger. However, he did tell me that if something were to happen to him then I should give this to you boys." She picked up the letter from the tray and handed it to Frank. "This is what I believe those men were after," she added.

He took the letter but did not open it. Instead, he rose and motioned for Joe to do likewise. "We'll do our best to get to the bottom of this," he promised.

"I know you will," she replied, smiling a bit sadly. Rising, she led the boys to the door and wished them well.

Back in the van, Joe took the wheel and Frank pulled out a penlight and opened the letter. Knowing his brother was just as curious as he, he read it out loud.

"Should you have this letter then things have progressed even further than I at first believed they might. By now you will have learned from my sister about the happenings at Dawson Chemical. However, there is much more I haven't told her for fear she would be in danger.

It is my belief that Charles Dawson was responsible for his brother's death. Charles had Larry killed because of something which is to happen within the next few weeks.

There is an airshaft in the closet in my office which links to Charles' office. While hanging up my coat one morning, I overheard part of a conversation which helped to explain some of the "accidents" at the plant.

Charles told his guest the fires were well-planned and no one would question the death. What he meant by this last remark, I am unsure. However, talk of a forthcoming spill was obvious.

Since all I had to date is what I have heard and learned from personally checking supplies, it would have been my word against his. Not enough to stop him.

It was my intention to have spoken with you as soon as possible. I am confident that if anyone can clear up this affair, then it will be the Hardy brothers.

Apart from his signature, that's it," Frank ended with a thoughtful frown. "Con told us Charles was in California when Larry was killed."

"Yeah, so?" Joe asked.

"How could he have been responsible for Larry's death? It was an auto accident."

"He could have caught a private jet or hired someone to do it, or any number of other ways," Joe answered, glancing at Frank. "Shouldn't you be more concerned about the forthcoming spill and the death that was mentioned?"

"Actually, I know a lot about it all ready," Frank told him, grinning.

"How?" Joe demanded in surprise.

"I know approximately what day the spill is planned for and I am pretty sure as to whom the target is. I just don't understand why Dawson would be mixed up in the plan."

"How?" Joe repeated his earlier question.

"You know too," Frank told an increasingly infuriated Joe.

"How would I know?" Joe asked, glaring at Frank who was openly laughing now.

"Think about it little brother," Frank instructed. "Who do we know is making a special trip to Bayport and requires strict security because he has been receiving death threats?"

"Prince Rashid," Joe answered with a grin that quickly turned into a frown. "But if he's the target, then so is Dad!"

Frank nodded, a worried look on his face. "We've got to warn him."

"There's still something I don't understand," Joe began, then stopped talking as he lowered his visor and gently applied the brakes.

"What's with this guy?" Frank asked angrily, squinting into the glare of the oncoming lights.

"Whatever it is, he better get over it quickly," Joe grunted as he pushed a little harder on the brakes and took the van as far over to the right as he could.

"He's coming on our side!" Frank shouted as the truck came straight at them.

Tired of playing cat and mouse on the lonely stretch of highway, Joe took his foot off the brakes and hit the gas. "You want to play chicken?" he asked the truck.

"What are you doing?" Frank screamed at Joe as he sped head on at the truck which was almost upon them. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Waiting until the truck was only a few yards in front of them, Joe eased off the gas and turned the wheel hard to the left. The truck whizzed by with only inches to spare.

Frank took a deep breath and looked over at Joe. "Good move," he said.

"Thanks," Joe answered.

"I'm grateful you didn't tell me what you were going to do." Without giving Joe a chance to respond he continued, "Did you catch the name on the side of that rig?'

"I was kind of busy," Joe sarcastically replied. "But I can guess," he added.

"Dawson's," Frank agreed, then immediately changed the subject. "What don't you understand?" he asked Joe, referring to his earlier remark.

"The fires," Joe answered. "More specifically," he continued, "why burn three warehouses when one would have been enough to maintain the accident theory?"

"And three makes it look like it didn't just happen," Frank agreed, picking up on Joe's train of thought. "There's something bothering me too," he added. "What were they after at Kurtz' house? They couldn't have known about the letter."

"Want to go back?" Joe asked, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

"Tomorrow," Frank decided. "Riley said he would send a car around every hour, so I doubt anyone will try anything more tonight. And that should give us time," he added mysteriously.

"Time for what?" Joe asked, giving Frank a look that clearly implied he knew he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Time to check out Dawson's office. Let's go," Frank told him with a satisfied grin.

"Tell me again why we're digging a hole?" Joe begged Frank as he nervously looked around.

Still shoveling dirt, Frank explained. "The security system has a lock on the fence so if we tried to cut it or climb it, an alarm would go off. The surveillance cameras are aimed at the top of the fence, so we can't pole vault over it. There's nothing underground, so we're tunneling under."

"There are still cameras and alarms inside," Joe informed him.

"See this?" Frank asked, stopping his digging and pulling out a small black box with a couple of buttons on it from his pocket. "Phil brought it over last week. He thought it might come in handy sometime."

"I don't remember it," said Joe. "What does it do?"

"You were in bed when he brought it over," Frank told him. "It's a remote controlled time delay device. It freezes anything electronic it's aimed at for sixty seconds. We'll have time to move from one location to another without being seen. This should allow us to reach Dawson's office so we can give it a through check," he added.

"And the guards?" Joe demanded, although his eyes gazed approvingly at the device in Frank's hand.

"We'll have to be on our toes," Frank answered him, putting the box back into his pocket.

"All right," Frank said, removing the box from his pocket once again as he and Joe came towards the building housing the offices a half an hour later. "Let's see if this gizmo works."

"Not now," Joe hissed, pointing at the camera over the entrance. The surveillance camera had been turned off!

Holding a finger to his lips, Joe slipped on the gloves Frank had insisted he bring along, and eased the door open. Entering, they heard voices from down the hall. Staying close together, they followed the voices until they heard a door click.

"That's Dawson's office," Frank whispered. "Kurtz' letter said he overheard a conversation through an airshaft in the closet," he continued. "Let's go upstairs and listen in."

They went upstairs, pausing only long enough to check that the surveillance system had not been reactivated. After entering the office, they went to the closet and opened the door. Hearing nothing, Frank stepped inside and shined his flashlight around the interior. Joe went to the window and looked down. A light shone through the first floor window beneath him so Joe knew they hadn't left.

"Why aren't they talking?" Joe asked in confusion.

"Maybe they are," Frank replied, stepping out of the closet. Joe looked at him as he continued, "There's no airshaft in the closet."

Joe went into the closet and looked. "I don't get it," Joe said, shaking his head as he came out and closed the door. "Why would he lie?"

"Are you sure you only saw the head and suit of the boss?" Frank asked instead of answering Joe's question.

"Positive," Joe affirmed. "Why?"

"Just an idea," Frank replied, then turned back to Kurtz' desk. "Since Dawson's office is occupied, let's go over this one again," he suggested. "We didn't do a thorough job the last time."

Knowing Frank wouldn't talk about his idea until he was ready, Joe sighed and pulled out his lock pick kit. Unlocking the file cabinet he began looking for anything which might shed some light on the case. Meanwhile, Frank tackled the desk.

An hour later, Joe groaned in disgust. "There's nothing here. If he left a clue to what's going on, I can't find it."

"Mmm-hmm," murmured Frank, not really paying attention to Joe. He was looking at a slip of paper he had found wedged behind one of the drawers.

"What's that?" Joe asked, walking over to stand behind frank, his blue eyes reflecting a spark of interest.

"It's a list of chemicals stored in a warehouse on Doreson Road," Frank told him.

"There isn't a warehouse there," Joe denied. "Just a deserted farm. Iola and I had a picnic out there a couple of months back," he added, leaning down to take a look at the paper. He whistled softly, "That's some nasty stuff."

"Mmm," Frank agreed. "And if they're being stored in a warehouse that doesn't exist..." he broke off as Joe interrupted him.

"Then maybe they don't exist," Joe finished.

"I doubt that," disagreed Frank. "Why would there be a list of non-existent chemicals? No, a barn has probably been turned into a storage facility. But why? And why wasn't it on the list Sam gave us?"

"Shh!" warned Joe, turning off the light. They made a dash for the closet and just had closed the door when two men entered the room.

"Let's put it in one of those cans of paint," said a nasal voice.

"It'll hurt the timer," argued another voice. Opening the door a crack and peering through, Frank spotted the driver of the brown sedan.

"Naw," denied Jack, coming into view. "It's sealed."

"Let's just finish then get out of here."

"Why plant it here?" Jack asked, opening a can of paint.

"Because the target is dead center."

"Here?" Jack demanded in disbelief.

"Actually, that would be the closet," Conner amended.

"Okay," came the nasal response, as Jack went to open the closet where the Hardys were hidden. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

"Stop!" shouted Conner. "If it's found away from the others it will draw suspicion. It'll do the same job left with the other cans."

Shrugging his shoulders with an air of indifference, Jack replaced the can and the two left the room.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Frank and Joe opened the closet door and stepped out. "Let's get out of here," Joe urged, walking over to the door.

"Wait!" hissed Frank, grabbing Joe's arm and jerking him to a halt. "We've got a little time and we need to check out Dawson's office."

"How do you know we have enough time to do it?" Joe demanded.

"Conner said putting the can in the closet would draw suspicion. How could it do that at night when no one is here?" Frank reasoned. "We'll check out Dawson's office and then phone Con."

Going to the door in front of Joe, Frank opened it a crack and looked at the surveillance camera. "They're back on," he told Joe, pulling out Phil's invention. "Get ready," he warned, then aimed it at the camera. After pausing on the stairwell and under the receptionist's desk, they finally made it to Dawson's office.

"You take the desk and I'll take the file cabinets," Frank said after closing the door.

"I think I know what those two were doing in here earlier," Frank said after a few minutes. "Someone's already been in these," he added, waving a hand at the files.

"How can you tell?" Joe asked with a frown.

"Some of them are out of order," he replied. "Those two goons aren't very neat."

"Why would they be in Dawson's files? You think they're planning a double-cross?" asked Joe.

"Maybe," responded Frank absently as he scanned one of the files. "Joe, why would Dawson need to copy parts of his own files?" Frank asked, looking up with twinkling brown eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Joe demanded.

"Look," Frank said, showing him the page he had been looking at. "See the indention here." He pointed to a few light lines on the page. "Someone copied part of this file."

"Then they are planning a double-cross," Joe stated.

"Are they?" Frank asked, raising his eyebrows.

"You're not making sense," Joe grumbled. "Dawson would have no reason to copy his own files."

"Exactly," Frank agreed, grinning.

"Frank..." Joe began, prepared to argue.

"Where's the bomb?" asked Frank, caving in and giving Joe a hint.

"Upstairs in Kurtz' office," Joe answered.

"Okay," Frank said. "What could they have been after at Kurtz' house?"

"I don't know," Joe said after a minute's thought.

"Maybe they were leaving instead of arriving," Frank suggested.

"Through the window?" Joe asked in disbelief. "Why?'

"To avoid being seen by us," Frank told him.

"I don't get it," Joe said, sitting down and cupping his chin in his hand thoughtfully.

"They had been visiting Erma Kurtz and saw our van coming. They didn't want us to see them leaving, so they left through a window."

"But we did see them," Joe interrupted. "And Erma called the police."

"We went there straight from the station, where we left Con. Yet, he was the officer who answered the call," Frank stated.

"You're saying Erma didn't call the police until we got there?" Joe asked. "You're implying she was involved with the murder of her own brother?"

"Yes and no," was the answer Frank gave.

"I give up," Joe said, shaking his head in defeat.

"Uh-uh," Frank shook his head, smiling. "Let's get out of here. If you still haven't figured it out by the time I've finished calling the police, then I'll tell you my theory."

They left using the same route they had come, filling in the hole beneath the fence hiking back to the van. Frank used the car phone to tell Con about the bomb and then he and Joe headed home.

"Well," asked Frank, as they neared home. "Have you figured it out?"

"Maybe," Joe replied thoughtfully. "Since I never actually saw the boss' face, I can't give a positive identification that Dawson was the man at the warehouse. So let's say the boss is Mr. X."

"Okay," agreed Frank.

"Mr. X wants to frame Dawson for some reason. The reason we have yet to discover. Anyway, Mr. X pretends to be Dawson, dressing like him and even imitating his voice," Joe said looking over at Frank, who nodded his head for Joe to continue. "Taking your theory about those creeps being guests at Kurtz' house into consideration, and considering Erma doesn't work at Dawson Chemical, and the fact that Kurtz' lied about the air shaft, the most logical suspect is Samuel Kurtz. But," Joe emphasized, "he's dead."

"Is he?" asked Frank, casting a sideways glance at his brother.

"Of course he is," Joe argued. "The police have a body."

"That's right," Frank agreed. "The police do have a body. That doesn't mean it's Kurtz' body. Why would whoever killed him mess up his face like that?"

"I don't know," Joe answered, shrugging. "They're sick?" he guessed.

"Suppose Kurtz is the boss and he doesn't want anyone to suspect him so he stages his own murder. He finds someone with the same basic features as himself and either kills him or has someone do it for him."

"But the fingerprints proved the body was Kurtz," Joe pointed out.

"The fingerprints the police used to identify him were taken from a file at Dawson Chemical. Kurtz could have switched them," Frank reasoned. "That would explain the body your kidnapers were talking about when you were abducted. It would also explain how you saw a man on Saturday morning that had allegedly been killed on Friday."

Joe thought it over. "All right," he said. "If what you're saying is true, then Dawson is the target of the bomb."

"Right."

"What about the fires and the sabotage?" Joe asked. "How do they fit in?"

"I don't know," Frank replied, as he pulled into the Hardy's drive and came to a halt. "We need to take a trip to Doreson Road and find the warehouse mentioned on the paper I found."

"Let's go," urged Joe, rebuckling the seat belt he had just unfastened.

Frank shook his head. "We had better tell Dad first. I could be wrong and Prince Rashid could still be the real target."

They found their father still in his office. "That took longer than expected," Mr. Hardy greeted his sons as they sat down in chairs facing his desk.

"We also paid a visit to Erma Kurtz and went by Dawson Chemical again," Frank explained to his father. He then explained his theory about Samuel Kurtz.

"It's plausible," Mr. Hardy said, rising from his chair and moving to sit on the front of the desk by his sons. "Of course, to prove it, you will have to find Kurtz."

"We will," Frank vowed.

"Prince Rashid may still be the target," Mr. Hardy informed them. "Doreson Road was the route I had planned for the prince because it would be easier to blockade than the highway. Perhaps we should go by the highway after all," he added, almost to himself. Picking up the phone, he glanced at Frank and Joe, "I'll call and arrange a meeting with my security team to schedule the change. The prince arrives tomorrow. You two keep me posted," he ordered his sons before giving all of his attention to his call.

After Mr. Hardy had hung up, Joe looked at his father. "I thought you said he wouldn't arrive until the day after tomorrow."

Frank snickered. "It's after midnight, slow one," Frank kidded his brother. Stifling a yawn, he stood and told his father good night. Joe followed suit and soon they were both in bed asleep.

Dawn found them on their way to Doreson Road. "The farm's about a half a mile up," Joe informed Frank as they neared their destination.

Frank pulled off the road and the boys covered the van with some branches. "We don't want them to think anyone might be in the area," Frank said.

"Keep your eyes peeled," warned Joe as they neared one of the barns. Looking in the first barn they soon realized it had been deserted for some time so they went to the second one. It, too, was filled with cobwebs and debris. The third and fourth barns were likewise vacant. "Why are there so many barns?" asked Frank, peering around.

"This used to be a dairy farm," Joe told him.

"Then this place should have a feed barn or silo," Frank said, snapping his fingers. "Let's see if we can find it." After battling weeds and briars, they emerged near a path. Following it, discreetly, they reached a two-story barn that appeared to be in better condition than the previous ones.

"What do you want to bet we found the warehouse?" Joe whispered as they crept closer. Frank nodded and motioned for Joe to go to the left of the building while he went around the right side. Once he reached the back of the building he discovered the back entrance had been sealed shut. He walked on around and found Joe peering in a window.

"Conner and Jack are in there," Joe whispered. "Look there," he added, pointing to a corner where several crates stood. One was open and showed canisters with toxic warnings plastered on them. "Those are some of the ones on the list you found, right?"

Frank nodded grimly. "We've got to go for help. If they let this stuff loose, there's no telling how many people will die. Even if the town were to get evacuated in time, it would still do irreparable harm to the environment."

"Indeed," came a steely voice from behind them. They spun around only to be confronted by Jared and the gun he held in his hand.

"Be good little boys and march," he ordered, motioning with the gun for them to precede him into the converted barn.

"Where's your boss, Kurtz?" Joe asked, once they were inside.

Jared's eyes narrowed to slits and his malicious grin faded as he stared at Joe. Then without warning, he punched Joe in the stomach.

"Hey!" Frank protested and started for Jared, but the gun was quickly swung around and aimed at Frank, forcing him to stay where he was.

"I thought you only liked to kick," Joe goaded Jared.

Jared grabbed Joe by the collar and pulled him up so their faces touched. "The only reason you are still alive," he told Joe in clipped words, "is so I can relish the idea of you dying by degrees from the chemicals."

"Silly me," replied Joe sarcastically. "And here I thought the only reason I was still alive was because of your bungling all the attempts on my life so far," Joe added, watching Jared's face turn purple with rage.

"Now, now, Jared," came a soothing voice from behind him. "It was our idea to involve this young man in the first place. We can't really hold him and his brother responsible because we underestimated them."

"Why did you get Joe involved?" Frank demanded.

"I wanted Charles Dawson to be charged with my murder," Kurtz told them.

"You messed up," Joe told him. "I saw you Saturday but you faked your death on Friday."

"Actually," Kurtz responded, "you were supposed to tell the police about my suspicions when I spoke with you on Saturday. The body was going to be found near Dawson Chemical that evening. However, someone found the body before that could be arranged. Also, when I found out who you were, I felt it too risky to carry on with the plan."

"So you decided to kidnap him," Frank put in. "Why didn't you try to kill him at the Bayport Times office instead of waiting until later?"

"I had planned to let him go," Kurtz said sadly, shaking his head. "I put on a bald wig and a suit like Dawson's and practiced imitating his voice. I was going to pay Joe a visit in a semi-dark room so he couldn't distinguish my facial features."

"But I escaped and saw more than what you wanted me to see," Joe said, guessing what he was going to say next.

"Precisely," acknowledged Kurtz.

"So when Jared threatened me the first time, he was just trying to scare me," Joe deduced.

"What do you have against Dawson?" Frank wanted to know.

"Dawson Chemical should have been mine," Kurtz declared angrily. "Larry and Charles never got along until Charles' last visit. I found out after Charles had left for California that Larry had changed his will. I was no longer the heir to the plant, Charles was."

"So you killed Larry and set out to frame Charles," Frank guessed. "But when Charles wasn't arrested for your murder, you decided to kill him by planting a bomb in your office."

"You don't know the half of it," Jared said, laughing. "That bomb will kill more than Dawson."

"What do you mean?" Frank demanded, his eyes narrowing in fear.

"Prince Rashid will be going through Bayport," Jared explained. "Doreson Road is the road he'll be taking, so we've set up a surprise for him," he added, moving his arm in a sweep that encompassed the barn. "However, since your father may change routes at the last minute, taking the highway past Dawson Chemical, we've also arranged a surprise there."

"The bomb you obviously found in my office is only one of two," Kurtz explained. "The second is in a sub-basement with enough chemicals to kill half of Bayport," he concluded.

"The fires were a cover-up," Joe guessed. "They were set so you could move the chemicals without arousing suspicion."

"That's the reason none of the chemicals were a problem in the fires," Frank added. "The only canisters there were empty. What you hadn't brought here, you stored at the plant."

Kurtz smiled and gave a slight bow, as if he were accepting applause. "You two are very bright," he complemented the Hardys. "How did you know I was still alive?" he asked.

"Your letter," Joe told him. "You lied about there being an airshaft in your closet."

"And your sister said you told her about the conversation you had overheard in your office on the day you disappeared. But your letter mentioned the conversation as having happened sometime before," added Frank, finally remembering what had been bugging him since they had left Kurtz' house.

"Simple mistakes," Kurtz said, shaking his head ruefully. "However, all has ended well and..."

"Sir," Kurtz was cut off by a nasal voice. Jack had joined the group while Kurtz had been talking and his blue eyes were worried. "Your sister just called to tell us the prince is arriving today. Hardy changed plans."

His eyes growing cold once more, Jared shoved the Hardys over to the crates. Conner came over and together they tied their hands and feet.

"Jack," Jared shouted over his shoulder as he gave Joe's bonds a pull to further tighten them.

"Yeah?"

"Did you get the timer set?" Jared asked.

"It'll go off in exactly two hours," Jack said, walking over and grinning when he saw Frank and Joe trussed up. "Erma's gone over to the plant to reset the other ones.'

"Good," Jared declared. He looked down at the boys. "You can thank your old man for this one," he said. "You could have lived until tomorrow. But don't worry," he added. "The explosion will kill you before the toxins will."

"Good bye boys," Kurtz said, coming over. "I am sorry it had to come to this," he added a bit sadly. Then he and the others left the building, locking the Hardys inside. 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

"Sorry my eye," snarled Joe as he struggled against his bonds.

"He probably is," commented Frank, trying to loosen the ropes around his wrists.

"What?" Joe exploded. "He's tried to kill us several times, he did murder Dawson, he had another man killed to take his place, and he's about to murder half of Bayport. Of course he's sorry!" Joe finished sarcastically.

"We'll go into that later," Frank said in exasperation. "Right now," he added, gritting his teeth as the rope bit into his flesh, "let's concentrate on getting free."

"I've got a little slack," Joe said as he kept twisting his wrists. "But not enough. We need something to saw these against. This crate isn't rough enough," he added as his ropes slid effortlessly along the edge of the crate where he was propped up.

"Can you get into my right pocket and get my knife?" Frank asked.

"I'll try," Joe replied and squirmed around until his hands were near Frank's pants' pocket. Feeling with his fingers, he got a precarious grip on the pocket in question and pulled until he was as close as he could get. Wriggling and stretching his fingers as far in as they would go, he finally made contact with the knife.

"I can't get a grip on it," Joe said. "Can you move your leg?" Frank raised his legs and the knife slid between the tips of two of Joe's fingers. Squeezing it, he pulled the knife out of Frank's pocket and let out a relieved sigh. "Now all we have to do is get it open."

"I'll hold it," offered Frank, squirming into a sitting position and putting his back to Joe's. He took hold of the knife. "See if you can pull the blade out."

"Success!" Joe shouted as he felt the blade grow in his fingers. The blade locked into place seconds later. Less than half an hour later, both boys were free.

"Let's locate that bomb," Frank urged. They found it located near the back of the warehouse, surrounded on three sides by numerous canisters filled with chemicals from the list Frank had found earlier.

"Can you defuse it?" Joe asked, looking at a very terse Frank.

"I'm not going to try," he stated, stooping down to look at the bomb. "I've read the manuals and reports about defusing bombs, but I wouldn't try unless I had no other choice," Frank told him. He put out one hand and paused inches from the device. "I am going to stop the timer though," he added, looking at the wires on the bomb.

"Can you do it without triggering the bomb?" Joe asked in a loud whisper.

"Mmm-hmm," was the reply. Taking his knife, Frank gently eased the back off the timing device. Using the tip of the blade, he removed the cell battery from the timer. It stopped the counter at once. "They may know a lot about chemicals," he stated, standing up, "but they don't know much about bombs. That was almost too easy."

"Let's get out of here," Joe urged, still afraid the bomb might go off.

They were halfway to the van when they were greeted by the sound of sirens, followed almost immediately by two police cruisers. Stopping by the boys, they gasped in surprise at the first man to emerge.

"Dad!" Joe exclaimed, rushing over. "They've set a bomb to go off at Dawson Chemical today."

"No they haven't," Mr. Hardy assured his sons, smiling in relief because they were safe. "I phoned Chief Collig with your suspicions concerning Kurtz' death and he had a man watching the Kurtz' house."

"So when she left, he followed her to the plant," rank interrupted, guessing what must have happened.

"Right," acknowledged Mr. Hardy. "She was found in a sub-basement with a bomb. The one in Kurtz' office had already been defused by the police."

"There's another bomb in there," Frank said, pointing to the barn in the distance.

"But Frank disarmed the timer," Joe added. "What about Kurtz and Jared and the others?"

"And if the prince is in Bayport now, what are you doing here?" Frank threw in a question of his own.

"When Erma was caught, she broke down and confessed. It was because of her we came out here. She said you had been caught and were going to be blown up with the warehouse. We even caught her associates. She told us where she was to meet them and we had them in cuffs before they realized what had happened," Mr. hardy finished with a smile.

"The bomb squad is here," Chief Collig announced as a van pulled off the road beside the cruisers. While Joe showed the officers where to find the bomb, Mr. Hardy pulled Frank aside and whispered something in his ear to make him smile. When Joe came back, the three of them climbed into the Hardy's van and headed home.

"You never did say what you were doing here," Frank reminded his dad.

"There had to be a reason why Kurtz was after the prince," Mr. Hardy explained. "So I did a little checking. Jared is a mercenary who was recruited by the faction who wants the prince dead."

"How did Kurtz get involved?" Joe wanted to know.

"A scout had been sent to find a way to eliminate the prince while he was on his trip and saw Kurtz tampering with Larry Dawson's car."

"So Kurtz was blackmailed into this scheme," Frank said.

"I still don't get it," Joe said. "There's a big difference between killing one person you don't like and thousands of innocent people."

"Kurtz snapped," Frank surmised. "I doubt he actually meant to kill Larry. He probably just wanted to shake him up a little. Remember, he was angry because Larry had changed his will. Charles had just left town and considering the history between the two, he probably wouldn't have come back to Bayport even if Larry had been seriously injured."

"Then Larry would have reinstated Kurtz as his heir," put in Mr. Hardy.

"But when Larry was killed and Kurtz was approached by the blackmailer, it was like a roller coaster. He had just gotten on and didn't know how to get off. Things just kept picking up speed," Joe said, finally catching on. "But why would he get his sister get involved?"

"She never gave him a chance," Mr. Hardy said. "She found out what was going on..."

"And felt by getting involved, she was helping him," Joe finished. "I can understand that," he added with a glance at his brother.

"She knew her brother was having a nervous breakdown and thought this was the only way she could help him," said Mr. Hardy sadly.

"That still doesn't explain why you're here," Frank said in exasperation. He was getting tired of repeating himself.

"I arranged with Prince Rashid to let everyone think he had changed his schedule and then we waited to see who would break. One of his aides made a call to the home of one Samuel Kurtz not too much later."

"So he was responsible for the death threats the prince received," Joe stated.

"Is Conner related to Dawson?" Frank asked.

"No," replied Mr. Hardy. "Kurtz hired Conner as a janitor to cause various acts of sabotage. But when he needed to get information from the fire department about fire regulations without arousing suspicions, he gave Conner the cover story about being Dawson's cousin in charge of safety at the plant."

"One more question," Frank said. "Why did the fire inspector overlook those set-ups at the fireworks warehouse?'

"Because there weren't any," Mr. Hardy said.

"What?" Frank exploded. "I saw them."

"The three fires were started simultaneously," Mr. Hardy explained. "It was arson, but no sparks from the fireworks actually made it to another warehouse."

"So I did imagine them," Frank said softly, shaking his head in mild disbelief.

"Afraid so," said Mr. Hardy as they arrived at the Hardy residence. "Are you two ready to go back to school?" he asked, his eyes twinkling as he changed the subject.

"Oh no," Joe groaned. "My paper."

"Relax," Frank said with a grin. "You finished it when you were retracing your tracks, remember?"

"I remember," Joe said unhappily. "My teacher said if I turned it in before Wednesday morning, he wouldn't cut a grade for it being late. But I forgot to run it over."

Mr. Hardy and Frank exchanged conspiratorial grins behind Joe's back as they headed towards the house.

"Surprise!" came shouts from every corner of the living room as they entered.

"Congratulations," said Iola, coming over and linking an arm through Joe's. "Not only did you two save Bayport, but..." she paused and gave Joe the portfolio she was holding.

Puzzled, Joe looked inside. He let out a whoop of joy. "I got an A!" he shouted, grabbing Iola and spinning her around the room.

END 


End file.
